


Ties that Bind

by SocialDeception



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Friends to Enemies, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Mutual Masturbation, Partners to Lovers, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2019-10-25 06:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17720195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialDeception/pseuds/SocialDeception
Summary: Leon's past and present are merged in unexpected ways. Something's about to happen. Something’s coming. Leon just isn’t aware of what just yet.But even if he doesn’t know it, time is ticking down to a conclusion he isn't at all ready for.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PlagueDog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlagueDog/gifts).



> Sorry this has taken so long. I talked about gifting this to you years ago, but then life happened, for both of us.  
> Thank you for being my friend, and for being there during the roughest time of my life. You made me laugh when I thought I would never laugh again.
> 
> Love you, dude.

* * *

**  
Raccoon City: 1998**

First day on the job, and Leon’s late.

The sun has already dipped below the horizon, and when he makes the turn for Raccoon City, night has already settled upon it. The streets are empty, far too empty in a city this size, despite it being a sleepy Tuesday night. Even on streets without traffic, though, he finds it going far too slow.

He’s been so excited about this job, so excited to leave his old life behind, and here he’s gone and messed it up already. The new uniform is far too warm on top of everything else, and he fidgets while his thoughts loop. He was so hell-bent on making a good first impression, and here he is, late on the only day that truly matters.

With a curse and a groan he taps his fingers on the steering wheel, as if the action will make the car move faster.

He’s too caught up with worrying that he doesn’t stop for a moment to wonder why the streets are so empty, too caught up to even notice the blockades. He’s driving so fast that when the columns of lights from the car swipe over a figure lying lifeless on the street in front of him, the car skids as he tries to break.

It’s a young woman and her back is bleeding, looking like someone chewed on her just moments before. Leon is too stressed to be scared, and he exits his car to check on her.

The streets are empty around him, just Leon and the dead or dying girl in front of him, but there's something else besides that emptiness. Something else besides the quiet echo of his shoes against the asphalt. It’s as if the whole world is holding its breath. Something's about to happen. Something’s coming. Leon just isn’t aware of what just yet.

But even if he doesn’t know it, time is ticking.

Time is ticking.

**US: Present time.**

Tick-tick-tick-tick

Leon stares up at the old-fashioned clock on the wall with a frown, letting the cup of coffee in his hand cool down to something akin to tepid sludge. It looks more like weak tea than coffee, a strange, murky color that says more about the taste than it ought to do. Still, he keeps staring at the clock without acknowledging the cup in his hand, or the commotion around him.

It’s been like this for a while now. He’s suddenly acutely aware of the ticking of clocks. It’s like the sound follows him, a constant reminder of time passing no matter where he goes. Except, lately, it’s felt less like time passing and more like a clock ticking down to something, a countdown to some inevitable conclusion he doesn’t feel at all ready for.

It must be the recent big break in his line of work, deep down he knows this, yet it does little to ease the seed of panic that has put its roots in him. The clock is counting down to something, whether it’s the end of bio-terrorism or himself, he does not know.

Maybe that’s the problem, really. It’s always felt like such an endless routine, one he’s done most of his life, and what he imagined would be the end of him too, at some point. God knows he’s dodged enough bullets, figuratively and literally, so perhaps it’s about time it caught up with him.

He lets out a puff of air, raising the cup of coffee to his lips, but thinking better of it when he gets a whiff of it. He puts the cup down and looks at the people in suits rushing past him instead.

They’ve hit it big this time, some faction of Umbrella nobody knew about, some of Wesker’s little following no one cared enough to find. Until now.

Not that it matters much for him. They’ll probably send him somewhere after they are done extracting whatever information they’re able to from the lackeys and henchmen. Off to do the only thing they seem to think him capable of, like he’s some sort of glorified exterminator. But then again, maybe that’s exactly what he is.

There’s some ruffle of cloth that makes Leon look up, and there’s another group of suits rushing towards the double-doors in the back, followed by at least a dozen soldiers. Whoever they caught must be putting up a fight. Leon shrugs and grabs his cup for a last narrow-eyed glare at the offensive liquid, stretching his limbs as he makes his way to the nearest trash can. He was called in an hour ago, but so far no one has come to fetch him, or explain what is going on.

He’s almost tempted to leave, but he decides to go to the bathroom and dunk some cold water on his face. Perhaps he’ll wake up, if nothing else.

He’s not even five steps in before a man in a stiff suit and a jaded look on his face walks up to him. Slim fingers - soft and uncalloused, this man has never been in the field - touch Leon’s hand as a gesture to follow him.

“You’re needed within, Leon.”

It rubs Leon the wrong way. He hates how the suits use his name like that, when he’s pretty sure he’s never seen the guy before in his life. When he doesn’t react right away the guy grabs him by the shoulder and steers him towards the double doors like Leon’s some old lady, and Leon fights the urge to shake him off.

“Why was I called in?”

Because, really, it’s an odd request. Leon is used for recon or clean-ups, usually, not the behind the scenes stuff like this.

“Subject is subsequently refusing to talk to any of us, in fact, he’s specifically asking for you.”

Leon doesn’t let the surprise of the request show.

“And you’re letting yourself be dictated by one of these people?”

The man in the suit gives a short smirk before answering.

“In this case, yes.” He doesn’t elaborate, just pushes Leon through the doors and into a long hallway.

It’s strange, seeing the other side of the stage like this. The hallway is sterile and nondescript, like a hospital or a morgue, but there’s no one else there. Leon would welcome the sound of other people, of hushed conversations and quiet laughter, but instead there’s nothing but the sound of their shoes on the linoleum flooring.

The man in the suit wears expensive leather shoes, but they still squeak every now and then in contact with the floor. The man winces whenever they do, even though he tries to hide it, and Leon finds it strangely amusing. In comparison he’s wearing boots made soft from wear, and he doesn’t make a sound. Years in the field has taught him the importance of silence, of blending in, and yet this man acts like he’s superior in every way.

The man makes a sharp turn down another hallway, ushering Leon along without a word, before he finally opens a door. This time he seems to remember his manners, because he stands by the door and gestures for Leon to enter first.

The room is like the hallway, sterile and impersonal, with a lingering smell of cleaning products. Unlike the hallway, though, there’s a large sheet of glass covering most of the far end wall, and for once Leon is at a loss for words.

He walks up to the glass with the man in the suit following, well, following suit. The interrogation room beyond is as white and sterile as the one Leon is in, but the light is harsher, illuminating a table with shackles on top, to which a man is handcuffed.

“He says he knows you.”

And yes, of course he knows Leon, and of course Leon knows him.

He looks older, tired, like he hasn’t slept right in a long time, but he’s still the same. Hair slicked back, shoulders big and square, defyingly so, for a dead man. His posture is that of a soldier’s, because in his mind he probably still is.

“Krauser,” Leon breathes.

“You served together?”

“Something like that.”

Leon doesn’t want to share what Krauser was to him. Not to this anonymous looking man in a suit and a haircut that probably cost more than Leon’s bike. It bothers him that the suit probably knows the truth anyway, like they always seem to do.

“I’m not an interrogator,” Leon states calmly, although his eyes are fixed a little too stiffly on Krauser’s face. Fixed on a face that’s even more hardened and angry than it was in the past.

“Already tried a real interrogator, hell, we tried two, and he just kept repeating your name and social security number.”

“My-” Leon’s head snaps in the suit’s direction, but he doesn’t finish his question.

“We already know he’s a part of it, all you gotta do is figure out who he answers to and what they were planning to do. Our worry is that one of our own has turned to the other side.”

“Just that, huh?” Leon scoffs. Clearly these guys have no idea how stubborn Krauser can be. “What do we know so far?”

“We found Krauser and a small group of mercenaries attempting to gain access to a federal storage facility."

"What kind of storage facility?"

The suit doesn't answer, just purses his lips in a grimace before continuing as if Leon hasn't said a single word.

"We’re trying to figure out where they come from and who they answer to, if there’s a traitor among us, but they are proving more difficult than expected. Managed to put four of them down, hope we didn’t make the wrong call in who to keep.”

Leon flinches at that. Like Krauser is nothing more like a rabid dog. Then again, he can hardly fault the suits for thinking it. He stares at Krauser through the glass, and notes the changes on his face since the last time he saw him. Not just changes, but brutal ones at that.

He had left Krauser for dead. The ruins had blown up, and the whole island after that. He wonders if the scarring on most of the left side of Krauser’s face are burns or some effects of the virus itself.

“How is he still alive,” Leon mumbles. It’s not a question, and definitely not one posed for the man in the suit, but he answers anyway.

“Because even though he wasn’t engineered in a petri dish, he’s still a bio organic weapon.” The suit taps on the glass, and Leon thinks he can see Krauser’s head twitch. “He’s alive because he’s not human anymore.”

Leon furrows his brow, but keeps his mouth shut. It shouldn’t hurt him, he knows. He had an inkling when he first saw Krauser again on that island, but the pieces clicked together in his head when he saw how Krauser was suddenly able to jump twenty feet in the air. And then finally the horror at seeing Krauser’s skin split and blister under whatever was coursing through his veins. But still, he doesn’t appreciate the sentiment.

“I’ll have to think about it,” Leon finally says, although he knows there isn’t a choice. Not really.

“Clock’s a-ticking, Mr. Kennedy,” the suit says smugly, with a tap to his expensive designer watch, his face betraying that he knows there isn’t really a choice either.

The clocks really are ticking, and doesn’t Leon know it. He doesn’t say anything else before he leaves, and he doesn’t spare Krauser another glance.  


* * *

  
Leon doesn’t think on his way back home, doesn’t think as he parks the bike, and he doesn’t think as he enters his home.

He’s had the same apartment since he was a fresh-faced twenty-one year old recruit. It’s a small, one-bedroom apartment, but it’s all Leon really needs. What money he earns he leaves in the bank, splurging on expensive scotch he can’t tell apart from bad scotch when he feels the need.

He throws his jacket over the back of the couch and walks over to the kitchen. He opens the cabinet for a glass, but reconsiders and simply takes a bottle of cheap booze out of the freezer instead. What he needs right at this very moment is a drink or four to help him relax.

With a sigh that seems a bit too loud in the empty apartment he dumps into the couch.

The alcohol, though blissfully cool, still burns when he swallows, but it’s that burn he’s after. The burn and the comfortable numbness that will inevitably follow. He sinks further down into the couch and stares at the ceiling.

So Krauser's back. Again.

Leon shouldn’t be so surprised, it’s not the first time Krauser has returned from the dead after all, but something knots inside Leon all the same. Krauser’s like something out of a nightmare, returning a little more wrong each time.

It would be a lie to say Leon hasn’t thought about him during all these years, because he has. Every time he’s called out to another outbreak, he wonders if he’ll meet Krauser in the ruins. If what he finds in the next tank or the next lab will be those eyes on him. Sometimes he imagines Krauser’s breath on the back of his neck, and he’ll turn, only to find the hallways empty.

Leon sighs and rubs his eyes. He should just go to bed, but he knows he won’t be able to sleep. Not yet. There’s far too many things going on inside his head, and Leon drinks more in an effort to drown them out. At least he remembered to grab Krauser’s file before he left, and he shakes out the photograph they took of him.

Krauser has his chin raised defiantly, mouth twisted in a scowl, but it does little to deter from the destruction the fire or the virus has left on the left side of his face. It’s a strange, mirrored image of the first time he laid eyes on Krauser, more than a decade ago.

Leon shuts his eyes and tries to stop thinking altogether. He never thought he’d get any answers to the questions Krauser left him with, and now when he has the possibility, he finds it chills him to the core.

Perhaps some stones are better left unturned, some mysteries best left forgotten and unsolved.

Perhaps what Leon ought to do this time is not to stop the metaphorical car, but drive on as fast as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Check out this beautiful art for the story!](https://social-deception.tumblr.com/post/182694837384/a-companion-picture-for-ties-that-bind-a)


	2. Point of Departure

**South America. 2002**

Leon isn’t sure what he expected, but it isn’t the claustrophobic, wet heat that greets him when he arrives at his destination. By the time he exits what’s left of the plane, sweat has already started prickling on his skin.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, it’s a jungle after all, complete with a tight, muggy heat that doesn’t let go, but it’s still an uncomfortable one.

He makes his way through the underbrush, checking the coordinates every now and then. He’s yet to meet his new partner, since he will have to wade in through a damn marsh before even getting close to their rendezvous point, but he suspects he won’t be hard to miss.

He’s read up on his new partner, of course, and he’s certain the reverse is true as well.

Jack Krauser. USSOCOM, with a list of accomplishments longer than Leon’s ever thought possible given his young age. The picture on file showed a severe looking man with a piercing gaze and a sour line to his mouth Leon hopes doesn’t say too much about his character, but he can’t deny he’s both impressed and intrigued.

Truth be told, Leon’s a bit nervous as well. The government has treated him like he’s the solution or a cure, but Leon feels anything but. To him, he’s still the rookie who happened to end up in the middle of an outbreak and somehow found the luck to survive. He’s not cocky enough to write the whole experience in Raccoon City off as anything but sheer, dumb luck. He saw too many good cops die that day to think otherwise.

Probably that same dumb luck that had him survive his plane being shot down.

Leon presses his hand to his chest, feeling the unfamiliar dent of the identification tags around his neck. He’s a police officer, not a soldier, and they somehow feel heavy around his neck. It makes him wonder where they are really going, if this is as much of a battlefield as any other place they would be forced to wear them. He doesn’t want to think too much about the significance behind them, so he lets his hand drop.

Ingrid Hannah, his support for the mission, had informed him that Krauser had run into trouble as well. Leon had hoped that they’d both be able to enter the country quietly, but so far the riots and local army interference had made that impossible. He hopes it doesn’t say too much about the state of things, or give any indication on how it will end. For once it would be nice to get some smooth sailing.

He checks the coordinates again, surprised to find he’s very close. Honestly, he’ll be happy when this mission is over, not just because of Javier Hidalgo and his Sacred Snakes, but because of the heat that just won’t let go. He had felt silly packing the camouflage cap along with him, but he’s happy he did now. It might not deflect heat, but the sun is sharp enough to hurt.

He has to stop for a drink, and raises his head to the sky. The sun really is blinding, and he lowers his gaze and checks the map. Then, with a sigh, he makes his way forward.

At first he thinks it’s a hallucination when the small hut comes into view. Perhaps he’s a bit dehydrated, because it seems to sway back and forth into focus, before he realizes what it is. Their rendezvous point.

He pauses outside the door long enough to wipe his forehead and take another sip of water. Krauser’s no doubt aware that he’s there, if his qualifications are anything to go by, but Leon still needs a moment.

After another few gulps of water, he opens the door quietly.

The room is sparsely furnished; Not much more than a few crates, a rickety old table and a few chairs. A man with an impressive bulk is sitting in one of them, chair tilted back with his boots on the table. He looks far too relaxed and comfortable than the situation would suggest, but he doesn’t smile when their eyes meet.

“Jack Krauser?”

“The same.” His voice matches his expression, rough and unfriendly, but Leon isn’t deterred by it, crossing the floor so he can shake the man’s hand instead. He isn’t surprised when his bones creak under Krauser's grip.

Krauser looks pretty much like his photograph, just a few years older. The years has done nothing to temper his features, in fact he looks harsher than before; angry lines carved by his eyes and mouth that makes him look even less approachable. It’s enough to make Leon wonder how exhausting his line of work is, and if this is what Leon has to look forward to.

Even if Krauser shook his hand willingly enough, there’s something almost hostile about the way he regards Leon. He has his eyes narrowed, clearly scrutinizing him, though for what, Leon isn't sure.

“Something wrong?” Leon finally asks, and Krauser’s lips tugs in a lazy smile.

“Just a little surprised, that’s all,” he says after a beat, and leans back on his chair. “What are you? Eighteen?”

“Twenty-five,” Leon says, and he’d cringe if Krauser wasn’t looking at him so intently. He can almost hear a toddler declare he’s two-and-a-half years old, thank you very much.

“Hm,” Krauser hums, “Close enough.” He gets up from his seated position and stretches. He looks far more impressive standing up, his sheer size and bulk enough to make Leon feel distinctly lacking. If Krauser notices Leon’s eyes on him, though, he doesn’t let it show. “Just keep your nose clean, kid, and I won’t complain,” he says instead, and grabs his gear.

It’s enough for Leon’s to bristle a little. He’s earned his position, his past thoughts of luck long gone.

“Let’s just stay professional,” Leon suggests with a frown, to which Krauser gives a chuckle. He laughs like the action is alien to him, his mouth twisting in a scowl instead of a smile.

“Agreed, kid,” he says and fishes out a map. “We’ve got quite a few hours of walking ahead, I suggest we get goin’.”

**US: Present time.**

Leon wakes early the next morning. So early, in fact, that the light filtering through the blinds is a weak thing, the sun not even breaking the horizon.

He doesn’t wake peacefully, he wakes by opening his eyes wide and terrified, but the second he starts blinking he’s already forgotten what it was he dreamt.

Even if he’s forgotten, it doesn’t seem like his brain has, because adrenaline surges through him. He sits up, and immediately he has to clutch his head with a groan when it starts hammering with a vengeance. He swings his feet out of bed, only to almost slip on the empty bottle of booze on the floor.

He stumbles for the bathroom, blinking like a mole at the sun when he turns the harsh overhead lighting on. He skips looking at himself in the mirror altogether, sliding sideways into the shower instead so he can rest his head on the cool tiles. He stands there for a full minute before he turns the water on, wincing when he doesn’t move away from the cold jet of water in time.

When the water finally heats up enough for him to angle his face up to the spray, Leon’s mind has already started wandering. He was gonna meet Sherry for lunch, but he supposes he has to reschedule. She’ll forgive him, like she always does. He should be cleaning up this place too. It’s not _dirty_ , per-se, but he’s done little to hide his bad habits. Whenever his brain starts mulling over Krauser, he forces his thoughts to other things instead. Like how he really could use a shave, but he doesn’t feel up for it.

He does shampoo his hair, though. It’s getting long again, and if this had been a lifetime ago, then Krauser would have pulled on a few strands and teased him for it. Leon shakes his head and closes his eyes. _Fuck him_ , he thinks, and scrubs himself down far harder than he needs to, just to rid himself of the thoughts.

Once he’s out of the shower, he debates whether or not he should go back in and face Krauser. He’s not even done toweling himself off when he decides he has to. In the end his sense of duty wins over his personal feelings, like it always does.

In an act of rebellion, he takes his motorcycle. He’s probably a little drunk still, but he needs the wind against his face, needs to have a sense of reality when everything else has spiraled out of control.

At least the streets are mostly empty, and Leon weaves in between the few cars on the streets with the wind whipping his face. In those moments he feels alive and ready for anything, like being on the road always does. The sky goes from pale gray to a stormy blue in the time for him to reach the tall fencing and heavy security signaling that he’s entering a federal area.

The novelty of it has worn down in the past ten or so years, and Leon shows his ID tags on autopilot, even cracking a few jokes to the guard on patrol. He can’t remember the joke once he’s passed them.

Sooner than he’d like he’s back in the sterile hallways with a suit on each side, and he’s escorted back to the room with the two-way mirror.

The suit he talked to yesterday is perched on the small table in what he probably imagined a casual pose, but all it does is convince Leon that he got into that position just moments before as it looks both uncomfortable and forced.

“I’ll talk to him,” Leon says, fully knowing there never really was a choice to begin with.

“Wonderful,” the man says, flashing far too many teeth in the process, and stands up. “We want to know who he answers to. You are not to ask, in any way, shape or form, about those storage facilities. They are a matter of national security, and you lack the necessary clearance. You got that?”

“I got it,” Leon says, but he doesn’t. Not really. He’s seen more, heard more, and read more than any clearance would ever cover, and to think there’s a storage facility that somehow houses more than what he’s learned over the years... The thought is ridiculous. The suit certainly want to feel important, though, and Leon’s not about to fight him over it.

“Wonderful,” the man repeats, but slower this time, his smile a little strained. Then he places a hand on the small of Leon’s back and walks with him to the door. Before he opens it, he turns to look at Leon, and his eyes go cold. “Remember, not a word about-”

“I know,” Leon interrupts.

The suit looks him over, scrutinizing the look on Leon’s face like he already knows what he’s thinking.

“Good luck, soldier,” he finally says as parting words, showing teeth in another grimace, and opens the door.

Even though he enters the room quietly, he can tell that Krauser is aware of his presence the second he does. Krauser doesn’t let it show, or at least he tries not to. He makes no attempts to turn around, but his posture stiffens ever so slightly.

“Comrade,” he states calmly after a moment, voice gravelly and rough like it always is, but lacking some of the edge. He really must be tired.

“Krauser.”

Leon circles Krauser before he sits down opposite of him, drinking in every detail of the man so he can form a strategy. Krauser’s face is marred, left arm looking like someone put it through a lawn mower. Krauser tries to pretend it doesn’t hurt to move it, but Leon can tell that it does.

“So,” Leon starts, leaning back in his chair with a nonchalance he does not feel. ”You just don’t stay dead, do you?”

And that coaxes a smile from Krauser and he eases back into his chair, some of that old arrogance back on his face.

“What, don’t tell me you didn’t miss me.” It’s not a question, and he smirks then, probably seeing the treacherous flutter of _something_ across Leon’s face, before he’s able to hide it.

“As much as I find the bickering amusing, I don’t really have the time for that now.”

“Oh yeah?” Krauser chuckles. “That why you come runnin’ when Mr. Suit over there tells you to?” Krauser nods his head to the big mirror next to them and although Leon knows that Krauser is just too aware of how these things plays out, he still gets a cold chill, wondering how much of the virus is still left within him, and how much Krauser is really able to see. “Less than twenty-four hours and you came back,” Krauser continues. “No, less than twelve.”

“Is it any different to the ones you answer to?”

“I’d say so,” Krauser chuckles. “You’re a bunch of cowards, the lot of you. The suit there tapping the glass like I’m some kind of venomous spider.” Krauser leans forward with a slow, widening smirk, so close it tests the very bounds of the chains around his wrists. “Like you’re my prey.”

Leon doesn’t shrink back, just stares at Krauser down his nose and avoids blinking.

“They’re watching us, watching our every move. Maybe taking bets on who will eat who.” The words are slow and deliberate, like he’s tasting each of them. Savoring them as much as he’s undoubtedly savoring the look on Leon’s face.

“Little unfair, don’t you think?” Leon finally says, “Taking bets against a captured spider.” And then he reaches forward to press a finger to Krauser’s forehead.

Krauser pales when he does, eyes flashing with anger, and he yanks his head back with a scowl.

“You like to play it tough, like you always have.” Leon doesn’t move, and he doesn’t flinch back like Krauser just did. “But you know your luck is up.”

“Oh, do I?" Krauser's eyes are still burning, but he relaxes a bit. "I know the questions they want you to ask. I know the trouble you’ll get if you don’t do what they want.”

“They know I’m not an interrogator.” Leon leans back, using one hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “I don’t have the patience to ask questions I know you’re not gonna answer.”

Krauser doesn’t say anything to that, predictably, just leans back with a small, upwards tilt of his lip, keeping his eyes fixed on Leon’s face.

“No,” Leon continues after a slight pause. “You’re a smart guy, you know the case they have against you. The US army doesn’t like deserters, and the government doesn’t like traitors. In short, you’re done for.”

The smile dies on Krauser’s lips, and he leans forward, yanking on the chain he’s bound to. “You think I’d deserted my position? I gave my whole life to the army, see how far that got me!” He pauses for a moment, like he's trying to control the way his chest heaves. “I sacrificed everything and one little mistake later and I’m tossed aside like garbage!”

“One little mistake? You call _that_ -” Leon points to Krauser’s arm. “- a small mistake?”

There’s a brief look of anger on Krauser’s face, and he covers the arm briefly before he catches himself doing so. Then he huffs, like Leon’s being exceptionally slow. “I’m talking about South America.”

There’s a flash in Leon’s mind and he’s back in the heat of South America, fighting a creature that was damn near impossible to kill. Back to the moment where the spike inevitably had to shoot out in Krauser’s direction. Krauser had been able to derail its course from his chest, but it still hit him right where it would hurt him the most. Right where he’d be deemed useless. They exchange a glance, and Leon is aware of what that glance means; They both know that Krauser would have preferred to die in duty, than to be taken out of commission like that. With honors, no doubt, but honors doesn’t mean shit.

“Speaking of mistakes,” Leon tears his gaze away from Krauser’s mangled arm. “How far has going against your government gotten you?”

Krauser chuckles and sinks back with a calculated look on his face. Somehow that expression is easier to handle than the silent understanding that just passed between them.

“Not my government anymore, Leon, did you forget?” He looks over Leon again, like he did in the jungle so long ago. “You were such a damn pretty-boy back then,” Krauser says, “But you’re not so pretty anymore, are you, Leon? How much you drinkin’ lately?”

Leon clenches his jaw, but doesn’t answer. Krauser probably knows anyway. Can probably smell of off him. Perhaps Krauser is even able to read his mind.

Krauser continues. “What got you drinkin’? The fact you gotta dance to your government's every whim?”

Leon doesn’t answer, just narrows his eyes and studies the look on Krauser’s face. The expression he finds there is different than the one he saw through the glass, although he can’t put his finger on why. He isn’t able to dwell on it for long, because Krauser says something that rings so true that Leon wonders if he somehow got access to his mind as well as his body, back then.

“They had you devote your life to a cause that never really felt like your cause, isn’t that right?”

Leon opens his mouth to protest, mostly out of habit, but Krauser keeps talking.

“And for what? In those rare times in between missions you go back to an empty apartment, eating junk food over the sink before going to bed-” And at that Krauser smirks. “- alone.” Even after all these years, there’s still something strange about the way Krauser smiles when he’s not sincere. It’s more like a grimace, like smiling physically hurts him. Judging by the stretch of damaged skin, it probably does. It’s a far cry from those rare genuine smiles of the past. This Krauser is something else.

“And you?” Leon starts talking before he’s even formulated what he wants to say in his head. “How lonely is your bed?”

Krauser doesn’t answer, just gives Leon a long, indecipherable stare with his lip curled in a mocking half-smirk. “Remember the first?” he suddenly asks, and Leon winces.

Of course he does. He thinks of Krauser and he imagines hot tin roofs and desperate kisses that had no business being there. They were on a mission, for God’s sakes, they weren’t horny teenagers in a parked car somewhere. Yet, that’s how it had felt like.

His eyes go unfocused for the briefest of moments, and when he refocuses on Krauser’s face, Krauser is intently studying his reaction. He’s probably encouraged by the look on Leon’s face, because he continue, undisturbed by the fact that people are watching them.

“Sometimes, Leon, sometimes I smell something and I’m right back with you. That special scent of sun-warmed skin, that cologne I always made fun of you for wearing.” He leans back, eyes suddenly wary. “Worn leather jackets.”

“That’s enough, Krauser.” Leon stands up, ashamed to admit that even after all these years, Krauser’s still able to get to him. “Let me know when you’re willing to cooperate.”

He doesn’t spare Krauser another look, striding out of the cramped space without a glance back, avoiding eye contact with the suit who is calling his name behind him.

Instead he rushes through the endless hallways with nothing than smooth white walls and linoleum flooring, cursing everyone, but cursing Krauser especially. He’s still spitting profanities when he exits the facility, and in an uncharacteristic move he punches the smooth cement wall once he's out of sight. He isn’t proud of it. This isn’t how he reacts under pressure. He ignores the voice in the back of his head that reminds him that his usual way is to drink himself into a stupor and pass out. Perhaps this anger is better.

Damn Krauser. Damn him and his all-knowing smirk and his enraging smugness. Damn them for asking this of Leon. Hell, he even curses himself for going along with it.

The punch does little to the wall, but once the pain registers he realizes his knuckles have split. He leans back against the wall, rubbing at them, while wondering what to do now. He’ll have to go back in there. He knows that. Not just because it’s what they are telling him to do, but because he wants to figure out what Krauser knows. Where he’s been all these years. Why he’s here now of all places, when he should be on the other side of the planet, buried under rubble, hell, buried under the sea. He should be dead. He died more than once, after all.

Despite showering just hours ago, Leon finds he needs another one. He’s tense and out of sorts and more than anything he wants to stay in the shower for a few hours, have a beer and watch crap on TV. It would no doubt be healthier to call a friend and talk it out, but Leon’s never been good at talking it out. He bottles everything up inside until a bottle is the only thing that helps.

He pulls away from the wall and makes for his motorcycle.

The suits can wait. Krauser can wait. All of it can fucking wait.


	3. Soldiers

**South America. 2002**

The sun seemingly never ends here. It’s hot, humid and buzzing with life, everywhere they look, everywhere they go. They’ve shared at least two canteens of water in the past few hours, but the heat isn’t letting go.

It’s too bad, Leon muses, that he couldn’t ask the locals if you get used to this kind of heat or not. Perhaps he’ll be able to ask the girl currently hoisted over Krauser’s shoulder when she wakes up.

They’ve had to purify water already. Somehow Leon had thought that dehydration would be less of an issue - it’s not a desert after all - but they are sweating so much that they constantly have to drink. Leon just hopes they’ve packed enough purifying tablets.

The heat even seems to have gotten to Krauser. He acts as stoically as ever, but Leon catches the occasional pained look, the way he discreetly wipes his forehead when he thinks Leon doesn’t see. It’s probably even worse when carrying another human being, but Krauser raise an arm in rejection whenever Leon asks if he should take over. Too proud for that, no doubt.

The clothes they're wearing are supposed to deflect heat, but for Leon he might as well be wearing a woolly sweater.

They still aren’t friendly, but definitely friendlier than when they first met. Krauser started out not being shy about his opinions and doubts about B.O.W’s, but really, Leon can’t really blame him for that. He didn’t particularly like the way Krauser sneered and laughed at it, but at least that part changed after the brief detour by the village, and after seeing what was left of its inhabitants.

It’s surprising, how quickly Krauser took to this new information, of the shift of his world, their world. He had listened intently to Leon, eyes betraying nothing but intense focus. There was nothing to suggest anything left over from his previous mocking amusement, but nothing to suggest fear or anxiety either.

It’s definitely more enjoyable, the playful bickering they share now as opposed to the outright animosity from before. They feel like a proper team now, something Leon’s thankful for. As time has passed, Leon’s come to realize that Krauser is different than what he'd imagined. Not friendly, not even in the slightest, but he packs a seemingly never ending array of bad jokes that Leon isn’t afraid to admit he likes. It’s made the long hike in the wet heat a lot easier to bear.

After the fiasco at the village, they decided to make for their original course, even with the young girl still passed out over Krauser’s shoulder.

The wide river should lead right into Javier’s territory, but Leon has his doubts on how easy it will be to get there.

Leon checks the map again, and frowns when he realizes there's a cluster of buildings nearby, indicating another village.

“Krauser,” Leon says silently, and when he looks back at him, Krauser has the girl already lowered to the ground.

They have no guarantees that it’s the same here as back in the previous village, but Leon knows from experience that it probably is.

They both get their guns out, and Leon’s slightly touched by the way Krauser moves the girl out of the path and partially hides her under a low shrub. Then they move into the underbrush, closer to where the village border should be.

That’s just it. It should be there, but once they break into a clearing, there’s nothing there but a collection of broken houses, no indication that anyone has been there for a while. It’s not like in the previous village, were there at least was pretense of life. This one is void of anything at all, except water.

It has risen further than in the previous village, and Leon wonders if the people made it out in time, or if they are somewhere below the murky flood-water. Krauser’s brows are further cinched together when Leon turns to look at him, no doubt thinking the same thing.

“Let’s just keep going for the lake, this place looks deserted,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t lower his guard.

“Yeah,” Leon agrees. “We shouldn’t leave her.”

Krauser looks at him then, just for a split second, but it’s clear to Leon that Krauser had already forgotten about her. It’s startling, how quickly Krauser went from protecting her to forgetting her very existence. Perhaps that’s what a soldier does. Focus on their task and nothing more. No human equations, no attachments.

In the time it has taken Leon to ponder this, Krauser has already turned. He walks ahead, his broad back tensed, and Leon can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind. If he feels like he’s lost his mind, even for just a second, the way Leon did in Raccoon City in what feels like a lifetime ago.

Leon shakes the thoughts from his head and follows him into the mouth of the jungle.

They aren’t even two steps back under the canopy when something yanks Leon back. In hindsight it’s a damn mystery how it could overpower him at all, because even if Leon couldn’t see it, he should have been able to smell it; Something deeply unpleasant, like under cooked pork left in a garbage disposal.

The attacker snags the back of Leon’s shirt, and the dog tags are twisted painfully around Leon’s neck. They are supposed to snap easily, but the pull of the shirt adds stability, and Leon finds himself without breath. In an effort to fight it off, he tries to twist his body around, but all he does it find himself halfway facing his assailant instead.

He’d call it human, except it looks like it’s been soaked in water for about a month. It’s swollen and grotesque, and when Leon moves his hands up to grab at his shirt, all he’s grasping are the creature’s bloated fingers. The skin slides off like wet bark off a branch, and Leon would have shuddered, had he the energy.

“Leon!”

Krauser’s voice barely registers over the thrumming in Leon’s head.

There’s another, harsher yank around his neck, and he’s suddenly on his knees in the tepid water. The creature makes a curious little forward jerk, and then the pressure around Leon’s neck finally gives. If Leon was superstitious he’d say something about the dog tags breaking, but as it is, he isn’t. Instead he snaps his focus back on the creature. Except it isn’t just the one anymore. As he watches, another one raises up from behind Krauser, decayed arms stretched out for him.

He’s back on his feet before he even formulates a plan, only to find Krauser there with his knife sheathed in the creature’s neck. It opens its mouth to say something, but nothing but a loud hiss escapes, like a water pipe under pressure, and then it falls back into the darkness below.

There's no time to say anything, because there's one groan, and then another, until Krauser and Leon both have their guns out. Round after round hits flesh with little resistance, the half-rotted creatures no match for the fire-power they're packing. As the last one falls and disappears, Leon finds himself scanning for more of them.

“I keep having to rescue you, huh, boy scout?” Krauser comes up from behind, his tone mocking, but he still trails his gaze over Leon’s body to see if he’s been hurt. “You okay?”

It’s funny, the sudden shift. If Leon didn’t know any better he’d say Krauser is trying to hide his concern.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Leon raises his hand to feel the empty spot where the tags used to be. He feels lighter without them already. “Just surprised me.”

“We need to get goin’,” Krauser says, casting one final glance over the desolate village. “Before more of these things appear.”

Leon nods, but doesn’t follow Krauser straight away as he turns to leave. Instead he watches what’s probably a watery grave for a substantial amount of people. And yet it looks so peaceful. The sun has started to set, painting the sky is brilliant reds and purples, reflecting off the still water. Despite his better judgement Leon sticks his hand down into the murky water in an effort to find the dog tags. Perhaps it would be better to leave them altogether, but Leon doesn’t feel comfortable with it. Perhaps he is a little superstitious after all.

“Leave them,” Krauser shouts, and he has the girl hoisted back over his shoulders. “We don’t have time.”

And ain’t that the truth, Leon thinks, and shakes his head. He pulls his hands out of the water and follows Krauser back on the trail, leaving the dog tags with the rest of the village and its inhabitants. Perhaps there’s some poetics in that. Or perhaps he should be all the happier about the purifying tablets they are carrying.

Either way the marks take a while to disappear from Leon’s neck, even if the thought of the village doesn't.

**US: Present time.**

Krauser is staring at the wall.

He hasn’t backed down yet, just like Leon knew he wouldn’t, and the suit was looking a little stiffer when Leon arrived. He hasn’t said anything about the fact that Leon just left, but he doesn’t have to. Leon knows his leash is a little shorter.

With a shake of his head Leon downs the last of the flat Coke in his hand and decides to jump back into whatever role they want him to carry out. He’s neither a negotiator nor an interrogator, but he feels like he’s meant to fill both roles for a case he isn’t sure what is. If he was a bit more paranoid he’d say it was for some other reason altogether.

He leaves the empty can of coke on the table, and goes back into the room with Krauser.

Krauser is still shackled to the table - Leon doubts he’s been given much of a break from it yet - and he seems oddly amused by the sight of Leon.

“They told you to jump, huh?” he says.

“I’m just doing my job,” Leon sinks back into the uncomfortable chair opposite of Krauser and rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh, but this isn’t your job, now, is it?”

Leon shrugs and picks on his nails. It isn’t, and Krauser knows it, but Leon’s not about to give him the satisfaction. When he looks back up Krauser is staring at Leon’s hand, amusement still evident on his face. Leon looks down and sees the still obvious signs that he’s punched something, and he’d flush if he cared a little more.

“I made you angry, huh?” Krauser asks, looking smug.

“Of course you make me angry,” Leon says quietly, still staring at his nails. “I remember us fighting for the same thing, together.” He raises his head, and looks Krauser straight in the eye. “And I remember when you saved my life.”

“Oh yes,” Krauser chuckles, even if his gaze is back to steel and hostility. “I can see why that’ll make you angry.”

Of course that isn’t what Leon meant, and Krauser knows it.

“They got you trained as a soldier, kid, but you weren’t ever one,” Krauser continues, “You got the skills, but skills alone doesn’t make someone a soldier.”

“Anything you want to see in a soldier, you want to see in a policeman as well,” Leon says mechanically.

“There’s a huge difference,” Krauser scoffs. “A cop cares about people first and foremost. _You_ care about people. Even the ones that don’t deserve it.” He glares at Leon. “You were always too soft and too kind.” He spits the words as if they are vices and not virtues. Leon supposes that they are vices, to him.

“Too soft?” Leon chuckles. “Now that’s new.”

“I think you know what I mean by that,” Krauser says, and Leon kind of does.

Through all of these years, certain smells and sights have never left him. He can fight with the best of them, but when he leaves, he doesn’t leave things behind, like the others do. No, he can’t stop thinking about Birkin hunting after his only daughter, the look on Adam’s once serene face in his final moments, not to mention Krauser’s-

“You’re thinkin’ about it right now, aren’t ya?” Krauser asks, but there’s no satisfaction there when Leon looks up at him. “All those times when you had to do shit you never wanted to do in the first place?”

“You might not consider me a soldier,” Leon says sharply, “But I get the job done.”

“Yeah, you do,” Krauser smirks and leans back. He’s proof that Leon doesn’t get the job done. Not every time, but he doesn’t have to say it to make Leon aware of that fact. “What I’d like to know is what they said to keep you dangling like a fish on a hook.” Krauser’s voice is flat. “Was it merely the threat of Sherry, or something more?”

“It was the chance to talk to you, actually." Leon shifts. "I’d like to know how the once great and dedicated Jack Krauser turned into such a coward.” Leon regrets the words as soon as they’re out, and in front of him Krauser’s brow knit together harshly.

“Don’t-” Krauser warns. “- call me a coward.”

Leon has to suppress a breathless chuckle at the intensity of Krauser's face.

“There's nothing cowardly about what I've done,” Krauser continues sharply. “I’ve done more than pull a trigger.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Leon says, looking at Krauser’s ruined arm. He has to wonder, if accepting whatever Krauser has, was a choice. He finds it hard to believe that Krauser would willingly accept something as terrible as the virus, especially after what he saw in South America.

“Does it hurt?” Leon asks, and maybe he just imagines it when Krauser winces and moves to cover his arm again. Then he reconsiders, and his face is guarded when their eyes meet.

“See?” he says instead of answering the question. “Too damn soft.”

It’s a funny thought, really. Leon thinks of who he is now, most days gone in a haze of alcohol and looping memories, and soft is the last word he’d use to describe it. If Krauser consider him soft, then he’d hate to know what Krauser considers hardened. Or what he’s had to do to get where he wanted to go, with Albert Wesker.

A thought occurs to Leon, then.

“Did you consider Albert Wesker a friend?” he asks, and even though Krauser doesn’t move or say a word, Leon still think he looks uncomfortable.

“You don’t call him your comrade,” Leon continues, and even though Krauser purses his lips briefly, he still doesn’t say a single word.

“In that note you left for me in Spain, you said that Ada’s goal was different than, and I quote, ‘Wesker's and mine’.” Leon leans back. “Oddly intimate, isn’t it?”

“What are you asking?” Krauser laughs, and the previous discomfort fades away. “Are you asking if we were lovers?” He seems genuinely amused by the thought.

Leon doesn’t answer, just crosses his arms over his middle.

“No, we weren’t lovers,” Krauser says with a slight grimace.

“But he still meant a lot to you,” Leon says. “I bet you even thought he appreciated you.”

Krauser’s jaw tightens, and his amusement fades from his eyes. His hands are resting on the table, and even though he didn’t shift a muscle, his knuckles still turns white.

“That bothers you, doesn’t it?” Leon asks, noticing the shift in Krauser’s expression. “That you sacrificed everything for a man who didn’t give a damn if you died for him. Just like your government did before him.”

“I’m a soldier,” Krauser says. “Soldiers are meant for sacrifice”

“You don’t believe that.”

Krauser shrugs. “Doesn’t matter if I do. That’s what Wesker thought. Ultimately, everyone below him were nothing but cogs in a machinery and a means to an end.”

“How can that not upset you?” Leon can’t stop his voice from tensing. “You gave up everything for him, and see where it got you!”

“Despite his grand plans, he still died and I didn’t. Besides-” Krauser relaxes a bit. “- I didn’t give up everything.” He studies Leon’s face. “And what if I’m right where I wanna be?”

Leon scoffs. Even chained to a table, Krauser manages to look in control. Leon has to envy that, in a way, as he himself never does. He feels nothing but tired resignation whenever he’s sent out on yet another mission, yet another battlefield.

They sit in silence, after that, observing each other. Krauser started out with a smirk playing on his lips, but after a moment, his mouth and face relaxes, and he looks at Leon in a way that Leon isn’t fully comfortable with. Even more so because of the way it makes him feel.

Even the suits must notice, because after another few heartbeats, there’s a knock on the door and a command for Leon to step out.

And Leon obeys, despite that resignation falling over him again. Despite the look on Krauser’s face that Leon almost interprets as disappointment. Obeys when the suit dismisses him for the day, and he’s free again, walking down the empty hallways. He doesn’t feel free.

His chest and head hurts, for reasons he doesn’t want to dwell on, but despite it all he soldiers on. Through it all, Leon perseveres. Leon scoffs and shakes his head, amused despite himself.

Maybe he really is a soldier after all.


	4. Scars

**South America. 2002**

The air is still around Javier’s compound, like the world itself is holding its breath, like it has for every important moment in Leon’s life.

There isn’t a single soul in sight from their vantage point, but Leon still scouts the area again, lulling over Krauser’s words.

_‘We have to take care of the girl, before it gets too late.’_

There’s a tug somewhere behind Leon’s breastbone, because he knows Krauser is probably correct. He also knows he can’t give up on her.

She’s sleeping now, her skinny chest rising and falling. She looks even more like a child like this, even more like - _Sherry_ , a voice inside Leon’s mind whispers, but he ignores it - an innocent little girl lost in a jungle she has no control over.

Leon glances over at her again, and catches Krauser watching him intently. He smirks when Leon looks at him, before he pulls away from the tree he was leaned against. He leans down once he’s close enough to Leon, steely eyes firmly focused on Leon’s face.

“How long we gonna let her sleep?” Krauser murmurs.

Leon watches her again through the corner of his eye. “A few more minutes, at least.”

Krauser is still leaned down, and he watches Leon. Their faces are close, probably too close, and Leon wonders if he should move. Krauser pulls away before he can, looking at the compound.

“Wanna scout the area while we wait?” he asks airily, and his eyes are back on Leon.

Something about the question, and the timing of it, is confusing, but Leon still follows him out of the clearing, casting a final look at Manuela’s sleeping form before the jungle swallows them.

They walk along the path they arrived on, walking so closely their hands brush together. Leon looks up at Krauser in a quick glance, not surprised when he finds him looking back on him.

“Let’s go in here,” Krauser suggests, walking off the path and into another, smaller, clearing. Once there he sits down on a fallen log and takes a couple of deep drinks from the canteen, his adam's apple bobbing as he does. Something about him piques Leon’s curiosity, although he hates to admit it.

Leon’s still staring when Krauser catches him looking, but he doesn’t seem altogether bothered by that fact. Instead he carefully screws the cap back on before tossing the canteen Leon’s way.

It’s a good throw and Leon catches it with ease, but his hands are still shaking as he unscrews the lid. Despite the nervous flutter in his abdomen he doesn’t look away while he drinks from it. It feels like a dare they haven’t yet made, and Krauser is watching him carefully, his expression unreadable. It doesn’t take long before that look makes Leon nervous.

“So…” Leon starts, but he realizes he doesn’t know how to end the sentence. The single word hangs in the air for a moment, before Krauser moves.

“So,” Krauser echoes, sounding amused. He looks smug all of a sudden, and when he rakes his eyes up and down Leon’s body, it lacks both the animosity from before, and the worry. In fact, it’s something Leon is afraid to identify, because he wouldn’t know what to do with it. Krauser stands up, stretches, and watches Leon again.

It’s definitely a dare, and Leon doesn’t look away.

After a short second he starts stalking towards Leon like a predator, eyes firmly locked on Leon’s face, and Leon isn’t sure what to do; if it’s better to move, or to stand his ground. He isn’t even sure what Krauser wants, if this is an extension of his annoyance from before, or if he- Leon swallows thickly.

Krauser stops when he’s so close Leon can feel the heat radiating off of him, and this close he can see just how blue Krauser’s eyes really are. Krauser looks down on Leon’s mouth, and as a reflex Leon looks at Krauser’s. They are full, curled in a mocking smirk, but undeniably soft looking all the same.

Leon shakes his head. The heat is getting to him, dehydration, stress, whatever. He halfway forms a plan to move away, when Krauser moves again. He’s on him before Leon has a chance to pull away, his lips hot and heady against Leon’s mouth.

“What-” Leon half-groans against Krauser’s lips, and despite the multitude of thoughts going through his head, it still registers how Krauser tastes and feels.

“Not what you wanted?” Krauser asks, his voice dropping to a whole new level of gravelly heat.

“I-” Leon starts, his hands living a life of their own, grabbing on to Krauser’s hips with another groan. His experiences have been with women with soft curves and even softer skin, and Krauser is the polar opposite. He feels like Leon imagined, hard muscled and strong, undeniably masculine, yet somehow far more enticing than those yielding curves from the past.

It’s still hot, still way too hot, but now it’s all concentrated in Leon’s groin, a persistent ache that has him cling even harder to Krauser.

“Shit,” Krauser groans against Leon’s lips. “I thought you were too much of a pretty-boy for my tastes, but damn if you don’t look good all dirty and sweaty like this.”

Leon’s about to say that Krauser isn’t exactly shower fresh either, but the thought disappears when Krauser unceremoniously opens Leon’s belt and unzips his pants. Leon wants to protest, he _should_ protest, but he can’t find the words when Krauser’s fingers rubs against his cock through the thin cotton of his underwear.

“Never thought you’d be packed like this,” Krauser teases, squeezing strong fingers around Leon’s cock until he jolts and gasps. “Thought your dick would be as dainty as your face.”

“Hey,” Leon groans, and palms Krauser through his pants. “Fuck you.”

“That’d be a lot more convincing if you weren’t jerking me off, boy scout,” Krauser chuckles and leans into Leon’s touch.

Truth be told, Leon isn’t all too sure what he’s doing, but he tries to mirror Krauser’s movements. The thick fabric of Krauser’s camouflage pants is too much, hiding too much, so Leon grunts and unbuckles his belt.

“Now you’re getting it.” Krauser nips at Leon’s lips and chuckles again.

Like the rest of Krauser’s body, his cock is hard and heavy in Leon’s hand, and he groans against Krauser’s lips when a wild thought wonders how it would feel in his mouth.

“Yeah, just like that,” Krauser murmurs and pulls Leon’s cock free from his underwear so he can get a decent grip. He isn’t experimental like Leon is, he simply starts jerking Leon off while licking into his mouth.

That’s the most surprising thing about Krauser. When Leon first met him - Leon ignores the voice in the back of his head that supplements the fact that it was just a few hours ago - he thought he’d be of the quiet and stoic kind, but Krauser doesn’t ever stop talking. It’s strangely endearing.

Krauser groans, and Leon snaps back in the moment with a jolt. Then Krauser grabs him by the hips and pushes him over to a tree so he has him pinned. With Leon firmly incapacitated he licks the palm of his hand before reaching it between them. He gives them both a few languid strokes before making a tight fist around both their cocks.

“Help me out here, would ya?”

Leon complies, curling his own hand around Krauser’s so together they create a tight opening for both their cocks.

Krauser doesn’t waste any time, thrusting into their combined grip with a deep growl. The easy slide of slick cock against slick cock makes Leon throw his head back against the tree, and Krauser doesn’t waste time leaning down to kiss and bite Leon’s neck.

It must be the heat, Leon thinks, because his mind swims in circles. Even more so when Krauser looks at him.

“Yeah, you’re pretty, you know that?” Krauser says, but his eyes are cold when he says it, like it’s more of an insult than a compliment. “Soft like a girl.”

Leon wants to laugh, because there’s nothing soft about him, nothing soft about either of them in that moment. They are both achingly hard, bodies tensed and strained against each other, but when he opens his mouth he moans instead.

“You like it when I call you pretty?” Krauser asks, and this time his smile almost seems genuine. He leans down so his lips are right by Leon’s ear and his voice is purposefully husky when he speaks again. “I wanna see that pretty face of yours when you come.”

It’s humiliating, and it shouldn’t make Leon jolt and gasp, but it does. Krauser chuckles against his temple, low and teasing.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he groans, fucking into their fists a little harder.

Leon’s pulse is hammering in his neck, so hard he swears he can hear it, and the heat is coming down harder. It’s so fucking hot, and so surreal, that Leon wonders if he’s gotten a sunstroke. It must be what’s happened, because there’s no way the two of them are jerking each other off in the middle of a mission.

There’s little doubt what Krauser wants happening, because his fist keeps getting tighter around Leon’s cock, his thrusts a little rougher. And Leon knows, he knows, that Krauser wants him to climax first. Perhaps yet another way to humiliate him.

At the same time- Leon watches Krauser’s face. He looks lost in the moment as well, harsh lines a little softer, eyes a little warmer, and he keeps seeking out Leon’s mouth.

And Leon allows it. No, more than that. He seeks out Krauser’s lips as well.

They kiss deeply, Krauser panting against Leon while their hands work between them. It’s so hot, in every way possible. Not just the jungle, but Krauser, his hard grip around Leon’s hips, the hand around his cock. Everything about it.

Leon’s breath catches, his heart thumping wildly against his ribs. He’s not sure if it shows on his face as well, but Krauser seems to know either way.

“Yeah, just like that,” he coaxes, twisting his wrist just so. “I wanna look at you.”

Leon can’t tell his blood from the jungle, but something flows and thrums, the heat intensifying until there’s nothing else, his very bones replaced with something molten and overpowering.

“Fuck, Kra-”

“Jack, my name’s Jack.”

“Jack, fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Yeah, come.” Krauser stares at him, watching his face intently as Leon climaxes. Leon tries to keep his eyes open as well, but they keep fluttering shut from the sheer intensity of it. He doesn’t miss the look on Krauser’s face, though; He looks at him like Leon’s the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen, and that the expression on his face as he’s coming is the hottest sight in the world. Leon hates to admit it’s not entirely an unpleasant feeling.

Krauser milks him through his orgasm, and as Leon’s legs tremble from the force of it, Krauser comes as well. He doesn’t seem to struggle keeping his eyes on Leon, but his mouth opens just a fraction.

It’s a mess, their combined release splattering across their hands and uniforms, but neither cares.

For one reason or another, Leon is surprised when Krauser leans forward and kisses him once more, before pulling away. He doesn’t say anything, just cleans himself up efficiently and tucks himself back into his pants. Leon is too dazed to follow suit until Krauser turns and lets his gaze trail from Leon’s face and down to his now flaccid penis and back up again with a smirk that is gone as soon as it appears.

“Time’s runnin’ out,” Krauser says and pulls out the map again. “We better get goin’.”

He says it so casually Leon has to look down at his hand to make sure it really happened. No, he’s still half-naked, still covered in the aftermath of their orgasms, and he tries to tidy himself up before getting dressed.

Krauser is watching him while he does. His gaze lacks some of the undeniable arousal from before, but there’s something different about the way he looks at him all the same. Leon takes another swig of the canteen, before following Krauser back onto the trail.

Krauser is right. The clock is ticking and they have a mission to complete.

**US: Present time.**

It’s a strange thing, feeling so blind.

Leon watches Krauser again, safely behind the glass. He knew Krauser so intimately, yet clearly not at all.

He sighs as he makes his way to the door, fully knowing he has to see this one through.

Krauser is waiting, like he always is. Maybe his comparison with a venomous spider wasn't so far off. It certainly feels like Leon's willingly walking into his web.

"Ready to talk yet?" Leon asks, and Krauser regards him silently. Leon circles him yet again, takes in the strong lines of his shoulders, before sitting down in front of him.

"I've thought a lot, over these past years," Leon starts. "But what really blows my mind is how dedicated you were, for our side, for the right side-”

“And who decides which side is right?” Krauser finally says, almost lazily, and there’s something so patronizing about the words. He acts as though the concept is not only outdated, but childish.

“You’ve killed innocent people!”

“So what?” Krauser leans forward, eyes intense. “Is it somehow different than following orders from Uncle Sam? I’m paid to kill, one way or another, just like you.”

Leon’s lips are thinning at the words, even though he shouldn’t be surprised.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you that killing civilians is wrong, Krauser, and you knew that once as well.”

“They are weak!” Krauser snarls, and then adds, quietly. “I have no sympathy for weakness.”

“And what about your own weakness?” Leon nods in the direction of Krauser’s left arm, but Krauser neither flinches, nor tries to cover it this time.

“I am not weak,” he growls.

“Yeah? Then what made you seek out Albert Wesker?”

Something passes over Krauser’s face at the mention of the name, and when he sinks back he looks exhausted.

“The world needs someone like Albert Wesker,” Krauser says mechanically. “Someone to give the world a new course, a new beginning and a new purpose.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Would I be here if I didn’t?”

Always answering a question with a question. Always vague. Always so damn hard to decipher.

“What made you choose to go after a federal storage facility?”

“Heh,” Krauser chuckles, “They didn’t tell ya?”

“Tell me what?”

The fact that Leon doesn’t know what he’s talking about seems to fill Krauser with glee, and one side of his lips tilts up in something resembling a smile.

“You really have no idea, do you?” Krauser pauses, scratches his cheek, smirks again, but doesn’t continue.

“Mmm, yeah, I like that bad-cop routine you got going on there,” Leon says with a mirthless chuckle, but truth is that he really doesn’t like what Krauser’s insinuating.

“I bet that if I start talkin’ about what’s in those so-called storage facilities, Mr. Suit there on the other side of the glass will come bargin’ in to stop me.” Krauser laughs. “Wanna see how fast I can make him run?”

Leon doesn’t answer, but Krauser just continues.

“We heard rumors about its contents, and we knew we had to see for ourselves. So I get a small team ready and we’re not even past the first-”

There’s a loud bang behind them and Leon turns in surprise. The man in the suit doesn’t look as composed as he normally does, but he does look pissed.

“Five seconds. Longer than I thought.” Krauser clicks his tongue, shrugs and leans back in his chair with a smug grin.

“Need I remind you, Mr. Kennedy, that you were not to ask for any specifics regarding those storage facilities? They are a matter of federal jurisdiction and national security.” The suit sounds out of breath, and Leon has to wonder if he’s out of breath because he wasn’t originally in the room at all.

“Of course, sir,” Leon says, and he doesn’t miss the way Krauser scoffs at that. “I apologize.”

The man in the suit sends them another angry glare before slowly backing out of the room again.

“Face it, Leon, you’re as much of a pawn in this game as I am.”

“Because I don’t have the clearance necessary to know about some storage bunker somewhere?”

“Not just anywhere,” Krauser says and nonchalantly traces the groves in the table with his fingers. “It’s right under your nose, and that makes me wonder what else you don’t know about. Maybe I had to find out.”

“You make it sound like you got caught on purpose,” Leon scoffs.

“Now, why would I do that?” he asks, and with a sinking heart Leon realizes that it probably was what happened.

“You got caught on purpose,” Leon says in a breath. “After twelve fucking years, you allowed yourself to get caught.”

“You’re cute when I manage to surprise you,” Krauser says and leans forward. “One might even say _pretty_.”

Leon can’t hide the flinch, but he doesn’t give Krauser the satisfaction of saying something rash.

“Who are you working for?” he asks instead, and Krauser has the good grace to look disappointed before he answers.

“Umbrella.”

“Umbrella is finished, was a long ago, so who do you really answer to?”

“Umbrella,” Krauser repeats with finality.

“Why do you and whatever organization you hide behind pop up now?”

Krauser laughs, but without any real mirth, and he leans back again.

“Who said it ever stopped?”

“Wesker is dead.”

“Don’t know how much you know of Greek mythology, but this shit is like a Hydra.” Krauser’s lips does a curious little twitch, like he isn’t quite sure if he finds it funny or not. “Cut off one head, and two pops up in its place.”

Leon snorts, and Krauser shoots him a look before continuing.

“There’s always someone else to step in. You should know that better than anyone. There’s always another Javier. Always another Saddler. Another Raccoon City, South America, Spain, hell, another Lanshiang,” he pauses, then, and glances up at Leon’s face and laughs a little at the expression there. “Yeah, I know what you’ve been up to, boy scout.”

“So you stepped in when Wesker died?”

“Me? No. I’m a soldier. Nothing more, nothing less.” He smirks at his own words, like they are a private sort of joke to him.

“You’re a mercenary,” Leon states, but nothing changes in Krauser’s expression, not even phased by the words.

They don’t speak for a while, then, suddenly no words left. Krauser’s eyes are still fixed on Leon’s face, his expression a stony mask.

This close, Leon can smell Krauser. It’s a smell that is as contradictory as anything else about him; the warmth of motor oil, a faintly acrid smell of gunpowder, and a soft and comforting scent of laundry detergent. And beneath all of that is what’s unnamed, something distinctly Krauser.

“Will you cooperate?” Leon finally asks.

“You don’t consider this cooperation?” Krauser shakes his wrists, the metal clanging together. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“Always so cocky,” Leon shakes his head. “I seem to recall me still being alive after Spain as well.”

“Or, maybe-” Krauser starts, that smirk back on his face, “Things went exactly as planned.”

“I don’t buy it.”

“Well, I gotta admit I wasn’t prepared for the scars,” Krauser shrugs, and for a moment he looks exceptionally smug.

“How can you even tell them apart from the others?”

Krauser chuckles. Leon should have known that a jab at his appearance wouldn’t go anywhere.

“I bet though-” Krauser points a finger to Leon’s cheek. “That it really bothers you that I got your face.”

Leon narrows his eyes, but stays quiet. This is familiar territory, Krauser taunting him, and Leon has to remind himself not to stoop to the same level.

Krauser seems to be able to read his mind, because he continues. “All that silky smooth skin, gone in a flash.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you’re not that fast.”

“Oh, but I still got you, didn’t I, Leon?” Krauser smirks, in a way that brutally reminds Leon who he’s dealing with. “I got you back then, and I got you in Spain.”

And at that moment, it isn't Krauser's scars, or his own, that bothers Leon. It's the fact that Krauser is, unfortunately, absolutely correct in that assessment. Krauser got him. Krauser still got him.

That part probably never changed.


	5. Expendable

**South America. 2002**

It happens so fast it barely registers.

First the spike that shoots out of Hilda’s monstrous form and pierces the floor in front of Krauser, forcing him to stop. Then the next one, aimed straight for Krauser’s chest, followed by a rapid succession of shots fired from Krauser’s gun. Then lastly the spike derailing off its course, swerving to the left, but not far enough. It’s like something out of a nightmare, Leon’s close, but not close enough to change a thing. The spike soon finds another mark in Krauser’s bicep. The force is enough to jerk Krauser sideways, and he cries out in pain and surprise.

“Krauser!” Leon shouts, before re-focusing on Hilda. He can’t stop now. Can’t risk a single glance in Krauser’s direction, focus on nothing but bringing the monster in front of him down. He hears Krauser firing his own gun, though, relentlessly, just like Leon. They shoot and shoot, penetrating every part of the creature until it collapses to the ground like a wet bucket of sand, and Leon knows it’s over.

There’s a strangely hollow sound as Krauser yanks the spike out of his arm and tosses it to the floor, and Leon tries to ignore the spray of blood accompanying it.

"You okay?" Leon asks despite knowing the answer.

Krauser grits his teeth. “It’s nothing.”

They both know that’s a lie. Krauser follows protocol, tying a bandage around his still bleeding arm, but his jaw is set and his eyes eerily focused on something Leon can’t see. He knows it’s bad, just like Leon does.

Even if the initial wound wasn’t enough to cause nerve or muscular tissue damage, the process of yanking it out probably did. Not that Krauser had a choice in the matter. Escaping Javier’s mansion has already proven difficult, but no doubt impossible with a spike protruding out of his arm.

Despite that, and despite the fact that neither of them states it outright, they’re both smart enough to know what a wound like that means for Krauser’s career.

And for what?

Manuela is on the ground, calling the dying monster her mother, and Leon’s heart sinks. There’s nothing but tragedies here. He looks at Krauser, who’s cradling his arm. He doesn’t pay attention to Manuela, too concerned about his own wounds to care much about hers. Leon can’t really blame him.

Something about it all feels strange to Leon. Maybe it’s the muggy heat of the jungle, maybe it’s Manuela, or maybe it is just fate, like this was meant to be all along.

Leon can’t shake the feeling.

**US: Present day:**

Ignoring the world outside, Leon flicks through Krauser’s file again.

He doesn’t know much about medicine, other than the bits and pieces he’s learned in the field, but he knows enough to realize just how devastating Krauser’s wound truly was.

A severed musculocutaneous nerve, the report states, with sensory loss below the elbow.

The psych report is surprisingly bare; Leon halfway expects something along the lines of psychotic bloodlust and homicidal rage, but instead it talks about Krauser quietly accepting the loss of function in his arm, and the subsequent loss of his career.

Leon knows better, of course. He has no doubts about just how different Krauser’s life would have turned out, had his arm not been ruined. He would never have turned to Wesker, and the temptation Umbrella represented. Never hunted after Leon the way he did. Never- Leon shakes his head.

He turns his attention to the pictures accompanying the medical report, and he stares at a photograph depicting the gaping wound close to the crook of Krauser’s elbow. It’s gone now, masked by all the other wounds on Krauser’s body, but back then it marred his arm entirely. Another picture shows a little of Krauser’s chest and the left side of his face, and Leon stares at the tired line of his mouth, and the strange, empty look on his face. Sure the report said he took the news well, but it’s clear as day to Leon that he hadn’t.

It feels wrong, somehow, reading Krauser’s files like this, and seeing these pictures. Even more so than staring at him through a two-way mirror like a captured predator at a zoo. It’s intruding in a way Leon isn’t entirely comfortable with, yet he keeps reading, keeps learning new things about Krauser.

How the scar on his chin, the one he’d had when Leon first met him in the sweltering heat of South America, had been obtained on a particular harsh assignment, where Krauser had taken shrapnel to the face in an effort to protect a comrade.

It’s all such a stark contrast to the broken, angry Krauser Leon’s been privy to these past few days.

Other things explains a lot.

He learns that the reason Krauser never told him about his family is that he doesn’t have one. It says he was abandoned by his mother; She simply signed her rights off before leaving and never coming back, leaving Krauser to be raised by a militant father whose vague descriptions makes Leon wonder what kind of home Krauser really grew up in. His father died before Krauser turned eighteen, and Krauser enlisted in the army shortly after.

It makes Leon’s stomach churn. For the first time he truly understands why the army was so important to Krauser, and why the discharge was so devastating. It hits him, not for the first time, what sad fate Krauser’s had. First he’s treated like someone expendable by the army, discharged because of something that wouldn't have happened in the first place if they’d only had the proper backup or Krauser the proper briefing, only to be treated the same way by the very person who was supposed to help him.

He thinks about what Krauser said. About Wesker who saw him as nothing but a means to an end, and how seemingly comfortable Krauser seemed with that fact.

It shouldn’t have that effect on him. Krauser’s changed, no longer the man he met in South America, no longer the man described in these papers. He’s turned into one of the many monsters in the shadows, the likes of which Leon never seem to rid himself of.

He tosses the folder onto the table, suddenly feeling very ill at ease. He can’t keep his eyes off it, though, so instead he gets up and walks up to the windows overlooking the world outside, trying to shake the feeling.

Not that he can. There's more than Krauser's file and the memories from both South America and Spain. Truth is he doesn’t like the suspicion Krauser’s left him with, how knowingly Krauser’s suddenly looking at him, like he knows more about Leon now than he did back then. He’s certainly kept tabs on Leon's every move.

It’s a disturbing thought, and Leon can’t help but look over his shoulder to his darkened apartment. Perhaps back then, without him realizing,  things would be slightly out of place, a chair a little further in, an empty plate pushed aside. He wonders if Krauser’s been in here. If he’s watched him eat cheap take-out, drink and go to bed, or if they’re all lucky guesses.

Krauser’s been here before, he could describe it in intimate detail since nothing has really changed since then, apart from Leon’s apathy. God knows he won’t get a straight answer.

The sun is setting, darkening the apartment further in the process. Leon doesn’t want to turn on the lights, so he stands there in the rapidly growing shadows, while thinking about how expendable Krauser was for everyone in his life.

Pretending the thought doesn’t fill him with unease, Leon simply retreats back into the darkness and sinks back down on the couch, the folder on the table like an elephant in the room.

There’s no use pretending, because he feels the unsettling prickle of conflicting emotions deep in his bones. Alone in his dark apartment, everything so quiet that he can hear himself breathe, he is both rattled and sick to his stomach.

It would have been easier if Krauser never came back. If Leon could have lived with the idea that he was buried somewhere off the coast of Spain, instead of what he has to live with now.

Because despite everything, he can’t make himself regret meeting Krauser, or everything that happened after. Despite everything, Krauser has never been replaceable. It’s one of life’s little ironies that Leon never found someone to replace him with. Ironic that the only person who didn’t consider Krauser expendable was the very one he would risk his life killing.

And isn’t that just the biggest joke of them all?


	6. Revelations

**US: 2002**

Despite their encounter in the jungle that day, the rest of the mission was kept professional. Something changed between them, though, more than just the frantic mutual masturbation and Krauser’s injury. Leon just can’t quite put his finger on what.

One thing is for sure, though; ever since his injury, Krauser has kept quiet, and here in the helicopter he hasn’t said a single word.

He’s watching Leon and Manuela, but silently, calculating, smiling whenever Leon looks at him, but the smile is strained, and when they part ways they make vague plans on keeping in touch, plans that will surely run out in the sand like most of these things tend to do. It was the heat of the moment, nothing more.

To Leon’s surprise it doesn’t take more than a week before Krauser invites him to some dingy bar downtown, made famous for its dark corners and casual attitude towards unsavory things. Leon’s no fool, he knows why Krauser invites him there, but he still, or perhaps eagerly, accepts the offer anyway.

There’s a fire there, when their eyes meet, which speaks of more than just the heat of the jungle and they don’t even finish their beers before they’re out in the nearest alley, fucking furiously up against the damp brick. Krauser is poised up close behind Leon, breathing against his neck as he angles his hips just right.

Leon breathes heavily, trying to get some sort of leverage on the wall in front of him but finding none. Perhaps the perfect analogy for the two of them, but Leon ignores it.

“Fuck,” he pants instead. “ _Fuck_.”

“So tight,” Krauser growls in his ear. “So fucking tight for me.”

Leon wants to tell him to shut up, but he’s too lost in the sensation of Krauser fucking into him.

“Feel like I popped your cherry,” Krauser grunts against his neck, breath as damp as the walls. “Am I the first to fuck your tight little ass?”

Leon grits his teeth. “Fuck you,” he gasps as Krauser grabs his cock. For each slick thrust of his hips he pushes Leon forward into his hand so it forms a maddening rhythm that Leon knows won’t make him last long at all.

“You were sayin’?” Krauser chuckles, tightening his grip on him. His expression changes once Leon casts a look over his shoulder and their eyes meet. “God, look at you.” Krauser says breathlessly, and his tone has changed as well.

Leon closes his eyes, and hopes his expression can be equally closed off to Krauser’s prying eyes, but Krauser forces his head back when he tries to move away.

“You love being fucked like this, don’t you?” Krauser asks with an especially vicious snap of his hips that has Leon gasp in equal parts pain and pleasure. “Love getting fucked in some dirty alley. Love getting fucked by me.”

Krauser keeps talking like he’s the one holding all the cards. It’s pissing Leon off, and he grinds back against the thrusts with a vengeance, rewarded by Krauser’s broken moan close to his ear. It’s almost like they’re back in South America, Krauser taunting and trying to get Leon off as quickly as he can. This time, though, without the heat and the pressure of the assignment, Leon won’t hold back.

It feels like the entire city can hear them, that their panting breaths and strained groans resonates between the bricks and the buildings. Or maybe it really is just the two of them, fucking like it’s the end of the world.

It certainly feels that way to Leon, like he’s quenching a thirst he was unaware of having, as if the days after the mission have been one long agonizing foreplay.

Krauser likes being in control, Leon can tell, but he allows Leon to grind against him. He still holds Leon firmly in place, one arm hooked under Leon’s knee and poised against the wall, but he keeps his wounded arm loosely wrapped around Leon’s hip, even if the hand on Leon’s cock betrays no weakness at all. Leon hasn’t asked how is arm is doing, and he knows he won’t after they are done either.

“Yeah, just like that,” he says instead, meeting Krauser’s every thrust. “Just like that.”

Krauser does, while tightening his hold around Leon’s cock, his fist slick with precum as he rubs the head of Leon’s cock for each slide of his wrist.

“So good,” he murmurs into Leon’s ear. “You’re taking it so good.”

Despite the fact that they are virtual strangers, they fit together perfectly, like Leon was made to be fucked by Krauser, and Krauser was made for fucking him.

“Fuck,” Leon gasps against the wall. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

With a dark chuckle, Krauser bites down on Leon’s neck. “You think you’d still be alive if I really wanted you dead?” he asks, and fucks into him harder. “You think I’d ever let you escape?” Krauser tightens his hold on him, thrusting into him relentlessly.

Krauser pumps into him deeper, faster, more, and Leon is ready, he is ready, he is ready, his body tense and shivering and _wanting_. Judging by the slight tremor in Krauser’s forearm, he is close as well, and in an act that seems more intimate than the sex, they come in unison, riding out their orgasms together.

Like before, they watch each other during their climax, and perhaps that is the most intimate part of all. Krauser’s face is slackened in bliss, yet those eyes are kept firmly focused on Leon’s. The way his lips are opened just a fraction adds a softness to his face that Leon tries to memorize.

“Leon,” Krauser says in a breath, more a gasp than a name, and Leon turns his head further so they can kiss again.

And, like before, the kiss is surprising, even more so when Krauser holds on to him a little tighter. It’s a scary thing, this intimacy, because Leon realizes it could mean something more than what it is. It’s telling, the sound of his name on Krauser’s lips and Leon’s hand on Krauser’s chest. It was more than the jungle, and now Leon realizes it’s probably more than this alley as well.

He suppose only time will tell where they will end up, and what Krauser will come to mean to him.

**US: Present day:**

In his report regarding Krauser, he claimed Krauser cut off contact after the mission in South America, but it wasn’t entirely correct.

He likes to think he omitted that part of the truth because it’s not theirs to own, but a part of him worries it’s because he could see something changing in Krauser even then.

Staring at Krauser now, eyes focused on something Leon can’t see, he worries that he knew all along.  
  


* * *

  
“You keep coming back,” Krauser says the moment Leon enters the room. He hasn’t even turned to look at Leon, but somehow he always knows.

“I’m trying to do my job.”

“You’re not an interrogator.”

Leon ignores him and sits down by the table instead. “Are you ready to talk?”

“Are we not talking?” Krauser asks smoothly.

“Real cute.”

“What are you hoping to accomplish, exactly?” Krauser asks, and for once he doesn’t sound sarcastic or cruel. “You really think you’ll crack me?”

“I’m hoping you’ll see reason and agree to cooperate. It will be easier on you in the long run.”

“Save it, Leon.” Krauser leans forward. “What are you really after?”

Leon doesn’t answer straight away, and he works the questions out in his head.

“I want to know why you’d allow yourself to be brainwashed by the likes of Albert Wesker.”

“Brainwashed?” Krauser laughs, but it isn’t a real laugh. “What makes you think I was brainwashed?”

“Because I think you know you were nothing but a tool for Umbrella,” Leon leans forward, a bit closer than he probably should. “One they didn’t care if got broken along the way. I think you were brainwashed because there’s no way the Krauser I knew would allow himself to be broken like that.”

“Broken?” Krauser stares at Leon with those maddeningly empty eyes. “What makes you think I’m broken?”

It’s heartbreaking, in a way, those words coming from those scarred lips. Krauser’s not only broken, he’s delusional.

Krauser’s lips thin, like he can see the course Leon’s thoughts have taken, so he continues. “And what’s with the sudden poetry? Are you finally coming to grips with your own leash?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t?” Krauser leans closer, until their faces are just inches apart. ”When was the last time you were treated as anything more than a tool? Something to be exploited and discarded? You’re not twenty-five anymore, Leon, what happens when you won’t be able to do what these people want anymore?”

“Now who’s feeling poetic,” Leon breaks eye contact and leans back again. “Especially rich considering how you betrayed-” Leon wants to say ‘me’, but he changes his mind halfway and ends on a much safer “- your government.”

Krauser almost has the good grace to look troubled. Then the moment passes and his expression shifts.

“I didn’t force you to kill your friends,” he says smoothly, like he knew Leon’s thoughts all along, and despite the fact that Krauser wasn’t in the room those years ago, despite the fact that there’s no way he should ever know this, Leon has no doubt that he does.

“Helena froze,” Leon says with a shrug. “Adam- The president was no more.”

“But you still had to pull the trigger, didn’t you?”

Krauser’s words are like knives, and he probably knows it. Certain things will stay with Leon until the very ends of time, and having to end Adam’s life, or whatever was left of it, is one of them. In all of these years, Adam was the first to give Leon some fragile hope that things could be okay in the end.

“I did my job,” Leon finally says, but his voice doesn’t sound as strong as he would have liked.

“Yeah, that’s what they tell you, isn’t it? That’s what they make you do,” Krauser says, his voice deceptively soft. “Killing away everything that makes you _you_.” Krauser raises a hand, fingers fanned out and no doubt intended for Leon’s chest, but the chain is too short and he let it fall instead.

Leon watches him in silence, eyes darting over Krauser’s face, over scars and skin and eyes that have changed during the conversation. “How would you prefer this played out, if it was up to you? What exactly is it you want from me? It must be something, since you were so adamant about talking to me.”

Krauser gives Leon an appeasing look-over, a half-smirk on his lips. “Honestly? I’d like for you to undo these-” Krauser shakes his wrists just enough for the handcuffs to clank together. “And then-” He stops himself, smiles and shakes his head. “Nevermind,” he says. “I’ll tell you some other day.”

“You’re so sure I’ll come back?”

“Yes,” Krauser immediately retorts. “I know you’ll come back.”

“How?”

Krauser leans back and looks at Leon through lowered lashes, no doubt debating himself before he speaks again.

“Because I know you,” he finally says. “Even after all of this, I still do.”

“Yeah?” Leon says, “And who am I?”

“Too soft,” Krauser immediately says, and his expression returns to blankness.

“I’m soft?” Leon scoffs. “You always say that.”

“‘Cause it’s true.”

“Ask anyone, Krauser, and they’ll disagree with you. I go into a mission and I finish it no matter what.”

“But it’s killing you, isn’t it?” Krauser’s eyes are narrowed. “Every time you have to put down an infected comrade, every time you’re sent out alone to a job that would require an entire team of people. You might have hardened over these years, but deep down you’re still as soft as you ever were.”

Leon scoffs. It’s wrong, and he knows it. He’s had time to analyze his own reactions over the years, not surprised when he’s found them changed. It was startling, really, seeing Chris’ reactions to his fallen soldiers, compared to Leon’s. Where Leon mourned for a fraction of a second, that feeling was quick to be replaced by the knowledge that he had to put them down, that they were nothing but infected now, Chris’ mourning never seemed to end.

Things stayed in Leon’s mind as well, but stayed in the knowledge that he’d done what he could, whether people had died or not. That it left him feeling dejected and defeated on most days was something he wasn’t gonna dwell on.

“You’re such a bleedin’ fucking heart, Leon,” Krauser says, but there’s no malice behind the words. “Did you ever stop to wonder what would’ve happen if you hadn’t saved that girl?”

“Manuela?” Leon asks, although he already knows.

“One look and I knew we were in trouble.”

“She needed our help.”

“You looked at her and you saw someone fragile. Someone to save.” Krauser leans forward so he can look directly into Leon’s face. “You probably thought she looked like Sherry, didn’t you?”

Leon can feel the blood drain from his face. He keeps thinking Krauser can’t sink any lower, and then he goes and does something like this.

“She isn’t Sherry,” Leon says thinly. “She never was.”

Krauser continues as if he hasn’t heard him.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Krauser can’t extend his hands far enough, but Leon is sure he’d jab his finger into his chest if he could. “I told you she’d be a threat, but you didn’t listen. Too caught up with doing the _right_ thing, doing what the president wanted you to do.”

“I was doing my _job_!”

“So was I!” Krauser barks. “Do you know how much you cost me? My career, my reputation, my-” He snaps his mouth shut and glares instead.

“Your what?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“So what should I have done? Killed her?”

Krauser doesn’t answer right away, and when he does speak it’s not to answer Leon’s question.

“Did you ever stop to ask yourself why they sent us alone down there? We were clearly outnumbered.”

“Stealth was necessary for the operation,” Leon answers mechanically.

“Yeah, straight out of the handbook,” Krauser scoffs. “They got you trained well, kid.” He leans back again. “You didn’t think it strange that there just happened to be riots when we arrived? That your plane got shot down, that Javier knew we were there?”

Leon opens his mouth to reply, but closes it again just as fast.

“What pisses me off is that after all this time,” Krauser continues, “After all this time, despite how much this was all thanks to you, you still like to think I had it comin’.”

“I never thought you had it coming,” Leon protests, but Krauser doesn’t look convinced. In fact he looks furious.

“You claimed you wanted to eradicate the virus, claimed you wanted to purge it from the face of the planet,” Krauser is smiling again, but it isn’t a real smile. It’s something feral and wild, despite the lightness of his tone. “Manuela was supposed to die. She was _meant_ to die.”

“She wasn-”

“She was. But you couldn’t let that happen, could you? And because of that,” Krauser lifts his left arm and twists it back and forth to let Leon get a good view of the destruction of it. “Because of you, the virus lives on.”

Krauser must be aware of the power his words have over Leon, who’s suddenly having pangs of doubts, because he continues. “You think the government would kill young girls to keep her sentient? Do you think they’d keep her alive like Javier did? Do you even know what’s happened to her?”

His words sends a chill down Leon’s back.

“Are you saying I damned you by saving her?” He swallows. "And that it didn't even matter in the end?"

Krauser doesn’t reply, in fact it doesn’t seem like he heard Leon at all. Instead he continues on.

“I bet you anything little Manuela is in a test tube somewhere, being prodded to satisfy their own morbid curiosity.” He pauses before delivering the killing blow. “Just like they did Sherry.”

“You’re cruel,” Leon says quietly, probably giving away too much of his own feelings, but it doesn’t matter. Krauser already knows, judging by the look on his face.

“You should know that by now,” Krauser immediately says.

“How much of the virus and the plagas are still inside of you?”

Krauser gives Leon a narrowed-eyed glare, probably mulling over which answer to give, before he relaxes.

“I don’t know,” he says, and something tells Leon he’s telling the truth.

“So that’s the legacy of Jack Krauser, the once commendable USSOCOM soldier. Deceit and corruption without even the virus and las plagas to keep you company.” Leon shakes his head. “Was it even worth it, in the end?”

Krauser doesn’t flinch, but there’s the smallest twitch by his mouth that tells Leon that he struck a nerve. He can’t stop, though. Not now. So he continues with a cruelty that’s beneath him.

“All of this, and for what?” Leon leans back and studies Krauser’s face. “The fruits of all your work, and what do you have to show for it?” Leon trails his gaze along the damaged side of Krauser’s face, before delivering the killing blow. “Apart from a mangled arm and a face that not even a mother could love?”

It’s low, and Leon knows it, but he’s too angry to regret it.

Krauser has gone pale with anger, eyes icy and dangerous. The curve of his upper lip is tensed, like an animal on the verge of baring teeth. The sight has Leon’s heart race in a way that doesn’t feel anything like fear or trepidation.

Here they are, hurting each other yet again. It would be laughable, if it wasn’t so sad. What’s even sadder than that is the fact that they are probably both right. Perhaps they are both broken tools left behind by those who used them.

Perhaps, in some ways, they even used each other. More than that, they probably broke each other far more than anyone else ever did.


	7. Pretenses

**US: 2003**

It’s just been a few weeks since he last saw Krauser, but Leon’s gotten restless. It’s like an itch in his bones he can’t seem to rid himself off.

It doesn’t bode well for what they’ve kept as merely casual hook-ups, but to be fair, it hasn’t seemed casual in quite a while. The visits has extended beyond the sex, and the conversations has gotten deeper. He can’t delude himself into thinking the connection hasn’t gotten stronger as well.

Leon’s never been one for dating, but since South America he hasn’t even looked at anyone else and although he knows better than to ask, he has a feeling the same is true for Krauser.

The visits have gotten harder to define as time has passed, and when the doorbell rings, Leon feels that familiar stab of anticipation and something else in his lower abdomen.

He runs a hand through his hair, pretends it’s not a nervous habit, before going for the door. The doorbell rings again before he has the time to open it, and he shakes his head with a slight smile. Jack Krauser, impatient as ever.

Krauser is on him the second he opens the door, large hands cradling Leon’s face, lips firm against his. He is like a whirlwind, and in the time it takes for Leon to process the hands in his hair and the warm lips on his, Krauser has already kicked the door shut behind them and led Leon backwards into the bedroom.

“Want you,” he growls, and Leon folds his arms across Krauser’s broad back. “Damn thing was supposed to take one day, not five.”

“Mmm,” Leon half-chuckles against Krauser’s lips. “Isn’t that how it goes?”

“Don’t mean I gotta be happy about it.”

“How long?” Leon groans against Krauser’s lips, already knowing he’s not gonna like the answer.

“Gotta leave first thing in the morning, but we got some time.”

Time. Always time. Leon swears he can hear time ticking away in the background as he pushes Krauser off enough to pull on his shirt.

Krauser must have just gotten back, Leon can smell it on him. Smell gunpowder, blood and a faint scent of Krauser’s sweat. Krauser has always been painfully meticulous, and Leon uses the opportunity to press his face against Krauser’s neck, breathing him in.

“Need you,” Krauser murmurs, tilting Leon’s face up to his so he can kiss him again.

Everything about Krauser has always felt carnal, to an almost frightening level. The intensity they share, and Krauser’s physical and emotional presence should have been terrifying, but the thrill within him refuse to acknowledge it.

Truth is that Krauser has a way of getting to him. Not just the way he touches him or kisses him. Not even the way he fucks him into near oblivion. It’s everything about him, the near animalistic urge he both shows and elicits.

That’s why it confuses him when Krauser wraps his arms around his middle, whispering something soft against Leon’s neck. Confuses him when Krauser pushes him gently down on the bed, before kissing him again.

This kiss is different, far different than all the ones before it. This one is soft and careful, and the tenderness of it makes something ache in Leon’s chest.

“Jack-” he starts, but Krauser covers his lips with his own, silencing him.

Those hands, so strong and capable, are soft as they glide down Leon’s sides. Leon shivers under the touch and groans against Krauser’s lips.

Krauser is one for dirty talk, but this time he is silent. In fact, he’s almost reverent, studying Leon’s face with an intensity that frightens Leon. Like he’s committing every last detail of his face to memory.

“You’re making me nervous,” Leon murmurs against Krauser’s lips, to which Krauser gives a chuckle in return.

“This where I tell you I _should_ make you nervous?” he teases, but even if his words are harsh, his lips are soft as he presses a kiss to the corner of Leon’s mouth. “This where I tell you I’m _dangerous_?” His voice drops in pitch at that, and Leon shudders. It makes Krauser chuckle again. “Yeah, you’re into that, aren’t you, boy scout?”

And just like that Krauser is back in the game they always play. Like he simply forgot the rules for a moment.

“Fuck you,” Leon says softly and pushes back against Krauser’s hands.

“Fuck _me_ , huh?” Krauser places his mouth over one of Leon’s nipples and runs his tongue in lazy circles over it before giving him a sly smile. “And here I thought I was gonna fuck _you_.”

Leon arches into the touch with a moan.

“Yeah, just like that,” Krauser murmurs softly, and goes silent again.

He places soft kisses to Leon’s stomach, adding another when Leon starts laughing. And when he ducks his head down between Leon’s legs, he holds Leon’s hips with both hands as he starts sucking Leon’s cock.

Despite the precious few hours they have together, Krauser takes his time preparing Leon. He starts out slow, painfully slow, every movement of his mouth and hands languid and reverent. Krauser glances up at him when he pushes the first finger into Leon’s body, and Leon just want to pull him closer and hold him there. He’s tongue-tied, all the things he wants to say lost in the moment.

“Beautiful,” Krauser whispers, and for once there’s no malice behind the words.

“Please,” Leon gasps as Krauser adds another finger. “Just fuck me.”

Krauser doesn’t answer, but he does smile and when Krauser finally sinks into him, it is while kissing him deeply.

For once time stands still, and for all the times Leon has been afraid to let Krauser in, or accept the feelings he’s tried to push aside, this is the moment where all pretenses fall.

Leon whimpers and tries to push himself closer, and Krauser wraps his arms around him. It’s different than all the other times, different than any time Leon’s ever had, and he gasps when Krauser moves in him. He holds Krauser, feeling muscle shift under his fingers, each jut of bone and every expanse of soft skin. He trails scars he can’t feel, but knows are there. All of him. All of him entirely.

When they fuck, time finally seems to still around them, except it feels less as fucking and more like- Leon doesn’t want to think it, doesn’t want to put into words what they share, just clings to Krauser harder, feeling the weight of both him and everything else.

This moment is important. _Krauser_ is important, maybe more than Leon ever realized or wanted to admit. This, right here, is what matters, far more than any other thing in Leon’s life.

Krauser’s breathing changes, and Leon knows he’s close. Not just because of the shift in breathing, but because he’s close himself. Leon draws breath after ragged breath, and then, like synchronized clocks, they come together, like they have a hundred times before, but it’s different this time. Krauser kisses him as their breaths evens out and their hearts still; A kiss that’s so achingly quiet and soft that it makes Leon’s heart hurt once more. Krauser looks at him differently as well, moving some strands of Leon’s hair out of his face. Then, in a moment that has Leon’s heart race and time still, Krauser opens his mouth to say something, then changes his mind and kisses Leon instead.

What’s there between them burns a hole in Leon’s heart.

It’s more than pretenses that fall. Everything falls in that moment. Leon harder than anything else.

**US present time:**

He remembers that last night together. Remembers the shock of realizing that Krauser hadn’t been on some mission at all, and that he hadn’t been since South America. Krauser had been somewhere else entirely. Somewhere that still left him smelling like a battlefield; of death and blood and gunpowder. Maybe if Leon hadn’t been so lost in the moment, he would have seen it for what it was.

Leon had known deep down after the incident in South America that a wound like that would mean the end of Krauser’s career, but life went on and Krauser never spoke of it again, so why would he? In hindsight he knew he should have. In hindsight he should have done a lot of things.

He keeps thinking about their last kiss. The desperation of it. Where Krauser had grasped his upper arms a little too hard and pulled him into a kiss Leon now know held the taste of deceit and despair, but back then, back then the kiss had seemed like a strange, cruel twist of fate, like Krauser somehow had a foreboding about what was to come.

Leon isn’t really sure if the memory is tainted by the fact that Krauser knew the pain he’d let him go through on purpose, or all that much sweeter for it.

He no longer remembers where he was when Krauser died the first time. Probably on another mission somewhere, on that never-ending trail of vials and monsters. Helping locals, except helping people just seemed to bring even more horrors their way. He only found out about Krauser’s death a week later, one more line in yet another report.

Krauser hadn’t been on duty, but he had been on a helicopter as an advisor. As close to being killed in the line of duty as someone like Krauser ever could. Leon had read that line over and over, a coldness seeping over him that he hasn’t felt since. No one had known about their little affair, and now no one ever would.

It’s not a pleasant memory, and he usually stop himself from thinking too hard on it. He’s gotten used to that, over the years. Routine, like everything else.

The pain of losing Krauser was different than the others. It was an emptiness, like the very second before a cut will start hurting, except the pain didn’t seem to come. He resented himself for that for a while, like he hadn’t cared for Krauser enough, or not cared for him the right way, but he realized after a while that maybe this was the biggest testament for how much Krauser meant to him. So much that it shook him so deeply to the core that he couldn’t allow himself to feel at all.

And that’s how the days had passed since. Krauser was still in there somewhere, but sealed so tightly away that he wouldn’t become a liability.

It’s fairly easy to think about this now, as they sit in front of the large mirror, studying Krauser on the other side. The first hour or so Krauser had his back straightened, his eyes clear, but now his shoulders have started to sag a little, his eyes a little bloodshot. He hasn’t been allowed a break from this, aside from a plastic cup of water and a stale sandwich he declined, and the fatigue seems to be getting to him.

They don’t consider him human, and Leon supposes that’s how they are justifying what they are doing to him.

Next to Leon, with his hands and jaws clenched, is Chris Redfield. The big captain of the Special Operations Unit, and yet he looks as lost as Leon feels. There’s anger mixed with the confusion, and Leon knows all too well what he’s thinking. When Chris looks at Krauser, he sees Wesker. He sees a monster. Too bad Leon doesn’t. Not in the same way, in any case.

“I’m not an interrogator,” Leon says for what’s probably the fifth time. “I have no idea on how to extract the information.”

“You know him better than anyone here,” Chris replies smoothly, and Leon tightens his jaw when he thinks how right he is. “Must be a reason why he asked for you.”

“Must be.” It’s hard to be around Chris. They’re similar, but just different enough to cause tensions. Neither one are especially good at seeing nuance, their world is too messed up for that, but Chris is idealistic and almost narrow-mindedly moralistic in a way Leon’s too weary to be. “He was my partner,” Leon says. It’s true, but not the whole truth. Chris doesn’t have to know.

Chris’ face hardens. “And now he’s a monster.”

Leon looks at him through the corner of his eye. It’s not a challenge, but it feels that way to Leon regardless. He’s reminded of that time in the warehouse, with Chris aiming his gun at him to get to Ada. He wonders if Chris remembers it too.

“Would you be so quick to call Piers the same?” he asks, and judging by the look on Chris’ face, he might as well have punched him. Chris pales and it doesn’t even take a second before he slams a fist on the table.

“Piers is a damn hero!” Chris hisses. “He injected that damn virus to save all of us, he didn’t seek this shit out for pride, money or whatever the fuck else these guys do what they do. Do not,” Chris raises a finger and points it at Leon. “I repeat, do not compare Piers to them. Piers was not weak!”

Leon’s not as quick to anger as Chris is, and he goes back to watching Krauser through the glass.

“I’m not so sure Krauser’s weak either,” Leon states firmly, and when he looks back Chris is staring at him in disbelief.

“Do you hear yourself, Leon? Are you this quick to go against everything we’ve worked for?”

“Of course not,” Leon sends Chris an icy glare. “I think you’re missing the point. What if you found Piers still alive somewhere?” He pauses. “What you find him still infected?”

"But Piers and Krauser are not the same! If you wanna compare Krauser to someone from my past, then at least do the right thing and compare him to Wesker!"

“Maybe,” Leon prickles. “Or maybe I’m just not as quick as you to dismiss someone completely.”

“If you think,” Chris starts, rubbing at his mouth and frowning. “If you think it was easy for me to hate Wesker, to _kill_ him, you are very wrong.”

“You don’t-” Leon chews on his lip in a moment of weakness that he hides as hesitation. “You don’t think there was anything left of the man you admired in the end?”

“There was absolutely nothing there in the end, Leon. Absolutely nothing.” With that Chris gets up, shoots Leon a pointed look, and walks for the door. Once there, with his hand on the doorknob, he turns. “Ada Wong? Jack Krauser? Is there anyone you won’t-” He cuts himself off, shakes his head and opens the door.

He leaves Leon to stew with his own thoughts, eyes glued on Krauser on the other side of the glass.

Despite what Chris says, and despite what he thinks, Leon knows there’s more of the Krauser he remembers than the new Krauser. He does his best to hide it, but there’s a glimpse every now and then when they speak.

After Chris’ departure, Leon sits quietly at the table, watching Krauser sit in an equally stony silence on the other side. He’s staring down at the table, not moving a muscle. It really feels like watching a spider through the safe confines of a glass cage.

With a sigh Leon runs a hand through his hair and stands up. He has to do what’s expected of him, whether he likes it or not.

His stomach is in knots, anxious despite himself when he opens the door.

“Finally tired of staring at me?”

Like before, Krauser knows it’s him immediately, and Leon shakes his head.

“You’re not seriously trying to convince me you can see through walls, are you?” Leon asks, which earns a slight chuckle from Krauser.

There’s a faint hint of amusement on Krauser’s face when Leon sits down opposite of him, and he sizes Leon up and down, before he finally speaks.

“Where do we start today?”

Leon licks his lips. Asking what he wants to ask is risky, he knows. The room was empty when he left it, but he has no guarantees that someone hasn’t come in the meantime. He decides to risk it anyway.

“That last night together,” Leon starts, and this time the corners of Krauser’s mouth actually turn in a slight smile, like he expected it. Leon ignores it and continues. “I thought it meant something, but it was just because you were leaving, wasn’t it?”

“It did mean something.” Krauser says. “It meant the death of the old me, and the birth of the new one.”

“What did it mean for us?”

Krauser gives him another lingering once-over before he answers.

“Meant I wanted that ass of yours one last time.” Krauser doesn’t smile when he says it, doesn’t chuckle or sneer, but the words hurt all the same. "Nothing more."

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“You could have fooled me,” Leon says softly, and thinks of even softer kisses.

“Right,” Krauser starts, and he’s doing one of those strange, sneer-like chuckles again. “Mr. Boy Scout, who can’t differentiate fucking and making love, who can’t possibly fathom the possibility that sometimes people just fuck ‘cause they want to.”

Leon gives him a long glance without answering.

He’s not an interrogator. He knows it, Krauser knows it. But like anyone else, Leon knows certain tricks to make people talk. Torture? Not very effective. The most important and effective thing is knowing what to ask. Unfortunately, Krauser’s all too aware of it. He’s used to holding things close to his chest, and even catching him off guard with the right question to ask won’t be enough.

No, he has to knock Krauser out of his comfort zone, and one effective way to achieve that is to throw in the occasional left-field curveball. Something to really throw him off. Something he’s not expecting. A sudden shift in the conversation.

“Should I get something to drink?” Leon catches the slight flutter of surprise on Krauser’s face before it smooths over.

“Sure,” he says.

Parts of Leon has a morbid curiosity about the aspects of Krauser’s new physique. Does he even get hungry anymore? As far as Leon knows, he hasn’t eaten anything since they brought him back. He briefly considers asking, but changes his mind.

“I’ll be right back,” he says instead.

Leon takes his time putting the chair meticulously back to its original position, not looking at Krauser while he does it, even when he feels Krauser’s eyes on him. Then he turns for the door and right before he’s close enough to turn the handle, he turns back to Krauser who is indeed still watching him intently. “Water? Coffee? Tea?” he asks pleasantly.

“Water’s fine,” Krauser replies and Leon nods.

The shift of tone, from snide and angry, to quiet civility in these conversations is a curious thing. It’s bizarre when they fall into civil pleasantries. It’s always either been one or the other, hostility or whatever that other thing they shared was. But never this.

He shuts the door behind him with a sigh, only to find the suit already there with a cup of water no doubt intended for Krauser in an outstretched hand. He wonders how long he’s been there, and how much he’s overheard. Not that it matters, they’re probably taping the entire thing anyway.

“You’re not really making progress,” he says with snark in his voice, and it takes everything that Leon has to not punch him in the face.

“Well, like I said, Krauser’s stubborn.”

The suit creases his forehead for a moment and Leon wonders if he never actually said it out loud at all. Maybe he just thought the words. He’s getting tired.

“I need to stretch my legs,” he says, ignoring the water altogether.

“Hold up,” the suit says, and motions for Leon to come over to the one-way mirror.

Leon reluctantly walks up to him, and is about to ask what he wants when he notices Krauser on the other side.

The difference from when Leon was in the room is immediate and devastating, and something twists inside Leon when he sees Krauser slumped against the table.

Leon has seen Krauser fight. Seen him run and make love, with and without the virus. It seems perverse and wrong for such a strong and able body to slouch like that. Yet that’s what Krauser does, eyes fluttering shut as he’s fighting fatigue.

“What are you doing to him when I’m not around?” Leon whispers, resisting the urge to curl his fingers against the glass.

“Getting him to talk is our biggest priority,” he says. It’s not an answer. Not really. But it’s more of an answer than Leon would ever need.

Torture then. One of the most tried and true methods of interrogation, despite its limited effectiveness. Forcing people into a state of extreme exhaustion by sleep deprivation and starvation is common enough. It makes Leon’s chest ache.

“For someone who’s trying to do things right,” Leon says slowly. “You sure are doing a lot of things wrong.” And with that he leaves the room altogether, in fear that he might break the guy’s kneecaps if he doesn’t.

The desolation and anonymity of the hallways are welcomed this time.

Leon doubts he’d be able to hide the anger that’s no doubt etched on his face, doubts he’d be able to answer anyone with any sort of civility. He isn’t just angry with Krauser, and God knows he’s so fucking angry with him, but angry at everything that’s ever gone wrong in his life. Gone right, for that matter. He’s done more, saved more, than people ought to in a lifetime, and even though it wasn’t by choice, he can’t really regret it either. Perhaps that’s the tragedy of it. He can’t regret it, because he has saved so many lives.

But most of all he’s angry with his people, the people on the _right_ side, for doing things that he knows are so very, very wrong.

He finds a break room by the end of the corridor. It’s yet another white and empty one, and Leon has to wonder if it’s all for show. The room is spotless and impersonal, every surface perfectly dusted, each carefully placed pillow fluffed to perfection, but the effect is unsettling more than anything else. It reminds Leon of a dummy town right before a nuclear bomb goes off; A perfectly tailored snapshot at life, but it’s hollow and fake underneath it all.

At least there’s a few vending machines, and Leon stares at the selection with a frown.

It’s mostly cheap snacks with empty calories, but he chooses a cheap sandwich in a triangular pack and two bottles of water. He taps his fingers impatiently while waiting for the items to drop, and as an afterthought he brings along a couple of plastic cups.

It really hits him, now, how he’s able to go home after trying to interrogate Krauser, while Krauser’s stuck here. Leon's free to see the sky and go where he wants to go. Eat what he wants. Drink what he wants. If he didn’t know what Krauser has turned into, he’d almost feel bad for him.

_Except you do feel bad for him._

Leon shakes his head to rid himself of the unwelcome thoughts. Krauser made his choice in the jungle so long ago. Made his choice in Leon’s bed. Made his choice among pale sandstone and an even paler moon.

The walk back isn’t nearly as long as Leon needs it to be, and soon he’s once again in the room with the suit. He’s sipping coffee now, with his expensive shoes propped up on the table. When Leon enters he looks him over, his gaze stopping at the bottled water. If Leon wasn’t watching him, he might have missed the slight pull of the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t, though, and a chill goes down his back when he wonders what the suit put in the water he wanted to give Krauser.

They don’t speak, but Leon watches Krauser for a moment though the glass. He’s still slumped, and Leon can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest even from where he’s standing.

As a kindness to a former lover, and a former friend, Leon opens the door slowly, allowing Krauser time to pretend once more. And sure enough, when he enters the room, Krauser is leaned back in his chair, seemingly incredibly bored. His face is wiped clear of fatigue and Leon truly understands in that moment what a great actor Krauser can be when he wants to be.

Leon places the plastic cup in front of Krauser, and pauses when he starts opening one of the bottles, before he changes his mind and hands it to Krauser instead. He doesn’t think he imagines the gratitude on Krauser’s face.

It’s hard for Leon not to watch Krauser’s hands as he opens the bottle, not to watch them as he skips the glass altogether and drinks from the bottle instead. His hands are strong, capable, able to kill or- Leon closes his eyes.

They’ve spent so many days together, shared breaths and thoughts and pasts. The memory of their time together shifts and bends in Leon’s mind, and he wonders if in all this time Krauser was simply collecting information about him, because he knows far more about Leon that an enemy ever should. Does the suit know? How truly risky it is for them to speak?

More than just speaking, he realizes. It’s risky for them to be in the same room, risky to think, risky to be. When he opens his eyes again he finds Krauser studying him.

“Did you cry at my funeral?” Krauser suddenly asks, and this time there’s genuine curiosity behind the words.

“The first or the second?” Leon is tired. Tired of Krauser’s endless games and tired of the suit watching them on the other side.

“I already know you didn’t cry the second time.” Then he adds, as an afterthought. “Sure did cry over that helicopter pilot, though.”

Leon would have laughed at it, had the memories not been so terrible. He hasn’t forgotten about that pilot. He had been so relieved to see that helicopter. So relieved to hear a friendly voice, only to have it end in a ball of flames and twisted metal. He swallows thickly.

“Mike,” Leon says. “His name was Mike, but I didn’t cry.”

“You did call for him,” Krauser says, and this time his tone is hard. “Like a lover.”

Leon can’t stop himself from scoffing. “I never even met the guy.”

Despite not getting a true answer to his original question, Krauser doesn’t ask again. Leon wonders if he got the answer he was truly after.

“Did you know they would send me to Spain?” Leon asks to cover up how uncomfortable that makes him feel.

“Nope,” Krauser says.

“Were you hoping they would?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“Even if it meant killing me?”

Krauser doesn’t answer, just stares at Leon with that maddening empty look, like he’s carefully concealing whatever it is he doesn't want Leon to know.

“Even if it meant I’d kill you?” Leon presses.

“I knew you couldn’t kill me.”

“I did kill you. I watched you die.”

Krauser doesn’t answer, but something shifts in his expression before it’s back to cool neutrality. “How did it feel to finally come out on top?”

Leon scoffs and shakes his head. “How the hell do you think it felt?”

Krauser can’t hide his amusement at that, and after a few moments Leon leans forward again.

“I didn’t have time to think too much about it then,” he says. “But I had plenty of time after.”

“And?” Krauser coaxes.

“And it took me quite a few years and quite a few drinks to get over the guilt,” Leon answers honestly, wrongfully thinking he owes it to him somehow. Truth is, he never got over it, he just forced himself not to think about it anymore. He remembers that village, that castle and that island, but he’s tried so hard to erase every memory of Krauser being there that sometimes he’s able to convince himself he wasn’t.

When he shakes out of it, Krauser is still watching him carefully.

“How much are you drinking?” he asks again, like he did on that first day, but this time there’s no snark. “‘Cause it's too much, and it ain’t because of me, is it?”

Leon’s reminded of the hotel where he’d come to drown his sorrows in a bottle, and Chris’ reaction to a weakness that once had been his own. He shakes his head.

“This isn’t about me.”

“Oh, but it is.” Krauser folds his hands on the table. “Why are you drinking?”

Leon chuckles before he groans and rubs at his eyes.

“Why, Krauser. After all this time, why now?”

“How does it feel to leave, only to be hunted down and forced to continue anyway?”

 _How?_ The question burns in him, but Leon knows he can’t ask. He can’t show that kind of weakness. But how does Krauser know all of this? How can he know of private conversation and things Leon’s trying to forget?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Krauser simply continues speaking as if Leon hasn’t said a word. “See, I think you drink because you’ve realized this isn’t you. That you’re living a life that you have no control over. A life you'd never choose, if they ever give you the choice.”

“Is raiding storage facilities in the shadows who _you_ are?”

“No,” Krauser says, easy as can be. “No, it’s not.”

“Then what? Who are you, Krauser? Or _what_ , for that matter.”

“Oh, you know exactly who I am.” Krauser doesn’t even blink. “You’ve always known.”

“I thought I did.” Leon runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I thought I knew a lot of things.”

He falls quiet, and Krauser observes him just as quietly. It’s a funny thing, this interrogation, because Krauser seems to interrogate Leon as much as Leon is interrogating Krauser.

Perhaps that’s been Krauser’s intention all along.


	8. Deceit

**Spain 2004.**

There’s a creak below his feet for each step he takes, echoed through the vast, empty warehouse. This area is quieter than those he left behind, and somehow that just adds to Leon’s unease.

There’s no one here on the surface, but Leon knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he isn’t alone.

There’s nothing there to suggest it, but he can tell someone has followed him into the wide open room. The alternative, that they had been here waiting for him, makes his whole body prickle.

Whatever it is, it’s not like the ganados. This one is cunning, like Salazar’s minions. Leon flips open the sheath so he can pull the knife out, his own advice to Ada echoing through his mind.

_Bit of advice, try using knives next time. Works better for close encounters._

He spins around, knife poised, but despite the creeping feeling of unease, there’s no one there. Just the emptiness of the walkway he’s crossed, and he lowers his gun a fraction of an inch. Then, cutting through the silence, is a loud bang somewhere above him.

Muscle memory kicks in before Leon can even form a conscious thought, and he does a roll and narrowly dodges a knife that hits the metal grating on the floor instead of his face.

Well, not completely. The attacker managed to nick a fine little line on Leon’s cheek, and he wipes the blood away before getting back in position.

The attacker gets up from one knee, raising to his full height, raising a face that belongs to a dead man. More than that, it belongs in a nightmare, because that face isn’t how he remembers, and definitely doesn’t fit in a place like this.

Back then, back when he... Leon swallows. How long has it been? It's not even a question because Leon knows. He knows the last day Krauser was in his bed. He also knows what this means, and what Krauser has put him through on purpose.

Krauser's face is hard. Closed up. Guarded. But for a fraction of a second, he sees Leon. And in that second Leon sees him as well.

_His face..._

Krauser's face is marred. A long scar twists from his eyebrow, barely missing his eye, fat and jagged across his cheek before finally twisting across his lips. The stitching is gaping a little, like he's done the suturing himself, and knowing Krauser, he probably did.

All of this is processed in seconds. Less than that. Seconds of seconds.

Something ugly and broken deep inside Leon wants to touch that face. Let fingers track welts and scars. Because it's still Krauser. And despite the cut, and Krauser’s obvious intent, Leon still lowers his knife, even if he doesn’t lower his guard.

“Been a long time, comrade,” Krauser says, easy as that. Like nothing has happened between them, and like it’s just a coincidence that had him aim a knife for Leon’s face somewhere in Spain.

“Krauser,” he says. For the longest time he had wondered why it was always _Krauser_ , and not _Jack_ , but he’s thankful for that now. Jack would be far too intimate.

“I died in the crash two years ago, is that what they told you?”

It's not his presence or his scars that disturb Leon. It's the look in his eyes, like a stranger is peering out at him. Krauser has changed, like someone else is wearing his face like a mask. Different and the same. It’s not like meeting a childhood sweetheart years later and realize you’ve outgrown each other. It's different because he knows Krauser. He _knows_ him. But he doesn't know this Krauser.

Krauser might try to mimic a relaxed posture, but Leon sees the tension beneath his skin as he circles Leon. He’s ready to pounce, his eyes narrow and calculating. Leon might try to delude himself into thinking there’s something else there, a flicker of something unwilling, but there’s nothing there at all.

It only takes a second before Krauser lashes out, deceptively fast for someone so large, his knife a mere millimeter away from Leon’s throat. Krauser doesn’t play around, he’s lashing out to kill.

The shock lasts only a second before Leon lashes out himself, not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved when Krauser dodge his attack.

Leon has his other hand out in a protective stance, and Krauser can see straight through him. Leon isn’t there to kill, he’s trying to protect himself. Krauser, on the other hand, is all knife, all attack, all deadly force and no apparent conscience. Back when they were on the same side, Leon never found him daunting in battle, but now, at the receiving end, Leon realizes he’s terrifying.

Even so, he isn’t about to show Krauser that.

The fight might last an hour, or just a few minutes, but it stretches out like an eternity in Leon’s mind. The fight is intimate, and at times they’re forced so closely together that they are sharing breaths. He can feel the heat from Krauser’s body with the knives as the only divider between them. And more than anything he can look into Krauser’s eyes, not just the movements of his body, and what he sees there is as terrifying as it is heartbreaking.

He has looked into the eyes of many monsters in his time, but none chills him the way Krauser’s do. There’s no red glimmer to them, nothing to suggest that Krauser is anything but human, but somehow that very fact is what fills Leon with dread.

It feels like a lifetime ago that he looked into those eyes and saw emotions they hadn’t yet put names to. When he’d see them soften and relax when he sank into him. There’s nothing tender about the look in his eyes now. His eyes are steely and cold, narrowed in anger, and Krauser stares at Leon like he doesn’t know him at all. Like he’s never known him, or known how it feels to be inside him.

Krauser kicks a barrel in Leon’s direction, and when Leon knocks it out of his way, Krauser is already charging for him, teeth bared. God, he’s an animal, and Leon has no doubt that Krauser would kill him on the spot if he had the chance. He has no doubt that the second he lowers his guard he’ll be dead. Leon’s been so close to death so many times that the thought barely fazes him anymore, but this does; He doesn’t want to die here. Not like this. Not by Krauser’s hand. He could die a million times over, just not like this.

He blocks Krauser's knife with his own and they fall off the ledge together, controlled, like so many times before.

It’s easier to act like he’s angry because of Ashley, because of the President. It’s always easier to pretend.

This time it’s Leon who charges, and Krauser stands still for a moment, waiting, before he meets Leon’s blade at the last second, like it’s simply a game. Like it probably always was in his mind. Krauser matches him move by move, until Leon makes a quick turn and a slash. Although Krauser steps back, he doesn’t step back quite fast enough, and fabric and skin splits by the metal in Leon’s hands. He can see Krauser’s blood glint in the dim light. Red, still human, but the sight sickens him all the same.

Krauser looks at his ruined shirt and the blood welling from the cut on his chest. He looks back up, grunts and cinches his eyebrows together. Then his expression changes, and he laughs before charging again.

If it was a game to him before, then it’s over now. He’s faster, angry, charging like a bull. Leon narrowly dodges his onslaught and grabs Krauser’s wrist, only to make Krauser quickly toss his knife in his other hand. He narrowly manages to raise his forearm to block Krauser’s moves. He’s fast. He always was.

He was always stronger too, and he uses that strength and his height to his advantage, leaning over Leon to the point where Leon’s forced to lean back. Krauser’s face is just inches away, his teeth bared like an animal. With an ease that makes Leon grit his teeth, Krauser bends Leon’s arm until his knuckles almost brushes Krauser’s crotch, and Leon once again wonders what the hell is going on.

They’re so close that Leon almost wonders if Krauser’s gonna kiss him. He doesn’t, just studies Leon’s face intently, like he always did, and when he’s satisfied with what he sees there, he quickly spins around. Leon’s arm bends awkwardly, and he focuses more on that than the heavy kick to his lower back.

The knife is knocked out of his grip, and he falls heavily to the grated floor with a grunt.

_Check mate._

He rolls himself over, only to see Krauser coming closer, his head held high. He thinks he’s already won. God, but it feels wrong, lying like this, disarmed, his legs spread. It feels a bit too much like before.

“All for Umbrella’s sake.”

“Umbrella?!”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but somehow it still does. He’s suddenly transported back to that church in South America, the smell of flooded water and oxygen rich leaves. Back when he’d told Krauser everything he knew. To Krauser listening carefully, not saying a word. There had been nothing to indicate Krauser would join them, in fact there had even been a glimmer of sympathy in those steely eyes. There’s nothing of the sort there now. Krauser has his head tall, glaring down at Leon with icy eyes.

“Almost let it slip,” he says, but Leon knows it’s a lie. Krauser never says anything he doesn’t want to share.

Leon’s so caught up in that fact, caught up in the memories, that he misses the cues on what Krauser’s about to do.

“Enough talk! Die, comrade!”

And then Krauser leaps like a predator, knife aimed for Leon’s chest. He doesn’t have time to roll away, but he manages to block Krauser’s attack with both hands. Krauser isn’t quite straddling his lap, but the heat of his body burns through Leon’s clothes all the same.

Leon has the odds against him. Krauser is stronger, always has been, and the angle is too awkward for Leon to get a decent grip on Krauser’s wrists. Krauser looks triumphant, like he’s already won, and some sick part of Leon has no doubt that when Krauser inevitably sinks his knife into Leon’s body, he’ll have the exact same facial expression as he would during penetration.

Just as the very tip of the blade makes contact with Leon’s shirt, just as Krauser's expression changes, a gunshot rings out in the vast, empty room, and Krauser’s hands are jerked away from Leon’s chest. Krauser groans, and provides just enough room for Leon to give him a solid kick in his lower abdomen. He’s almost sorry he didn’t go for his balls, but Krauser still cradles his stomach like it hurt him.

_Good._

He doesn’t have time to marvel in that fact for too long, because on the ledge above them, cool as a cucumber, is Ada. Leon is ashamed to admit he calls her name, but she ignores him.

“Well,” Krauser sneers, getting back on his feet like he isn’t hurt at all. “If it isn’t the bitch in the red dress.”

“Looks like we have the upper hand here,” she says, unimpressed, cocking her head with a smile.

Krauser just laughs, although there is nothing heartfelt about it, and it’s a punch to Leon’s gut when he seemingly unaffectedly does a somersault in the air, landing on a platform twenty feet above them.

How…? Leon has his eyes fixed and narrowed on Krauser’s face, and a cold chill runs down his spine when he realizes what this means for Krauser, what it means for him. More than anything what it means for them. He shouldn’t be surprised, but despite how many times he’s seen this play out, he still is.

“You might be able to prolong your life,” Krauser says, his tone ugly and taunting like in bed right before he’d go soft and kiss him. “But it’s not like you can escape your inevitable death, is it?”

And with that he turns and leaves. Leon can hear his footfalls as he jogs away, and Leon has to wonder if it's on purpose since Krauser can be as silent as the grave when he wants to be.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because suddenly Ada is there. Beautiful, unattainable Ada who’s probably hurt him as much as Krauser has. It’s laughable, having them both here.

“You knew each other?” she asks, in that tone that tells Leon she already knows.

“More or less,” he answers.

Krauser’s knife is lodged into the grating on the floor, and Leon yanks it out. He already has his own knife sheathed, but something compels him to pick Krauser’s knife as well.

It’s large and double edged, and Leon almost smiles at the comparison with the man. There’s a snake engraved at the base, something Leon had noticed in South America as well, and he regrets never asking what the meaning of it is. He weighs it in his hand, noting the heat from Krauser’s hand still permeating the handle before sticking it in his belt. “Maybe it’s about time you told me the reason why you’re here?”

“Maybe some other time,” she says in passing, before jumping off the ledge and disappearing.

Unlike Krauser, Leon can’t hear her walk away.

**US: Present time.**

Even now, years later, Leon isn’t sure how he knew Krauser was there.

Perhaps it was the fact that they had moved around each other since the day they met, like some perverse dance. Maybe Leon’s been so finely tuned to the man that he somehow knew what was to come. Since Krauser’s return, Leon has replayed the whole incident in Spain in his head, replayed it until it seems like it happened to someone else, and he can't make sense of it. Memories have shifted, changed, until he isn't certain what really happened.

Even when he’s trying to forget, he can’t escape that fact. There’s too many players on an already overfilled board, and it has gotten harder and harder to tell the pieces apart.

Leon stares out the window, at the sun grazing the horizon. The flask has gone warm in his hands, the booze like tepid piss, but Leon still drinks it. He’s tried not to think about that day in the warehouse, because thinking about it means trying to come to terms with it. It’s easier to pretend that Krauser’s betrayal didn’t hit him harder than anything else ever did.

Ada was the first to betray him and break his heart, but it was different with Krauser. They had worked together, shared blood and sweat and breaths, and for him to turn to the other side… Leon shakes his head and has another gulp of the liquid that he can’t even identify anymore. He never knew much about Ada, and he never fully knew where he had her, but he had thought he knew Krauser better than anyone else.

“Just goes to show,” Leon says to the empty room. “You never fully know anyone.” He chuckles against the flask, but without any mirth. Ever since then, friends and colleagues alike have forced him into situations he didn’t want to be in. Kept him fighting for a cause that he’s started feeling detached from.

He’s started feeling detached from a lot of things.

One thing he’s keenly aware of, is that despite everything, despite omitting more truths than Leon ever knew, the things Krauser’s said during the interrogation definitely feels true. And if those are truths, what else could be as well?

‘So called storage facilities’. That’s what Krauser had said. Leon knows he shouldn’t take the word of some madman to heart, but despite everything else Krauser is, he’s also brutally honest.

What could be in those storage facilities that Leon shouldn’t know about? He’s struck again what the point of all the secrecy would be, considering what he already knows? Would it even matter?

Krauser’s always talked about the tightness of Leon’s leash, but it would be nothing compared to what it would be if he wanted to check out Krauser’s story. Leon quickly goes through his list of contacts, the lists of favors he’s saved up throughout the years. He’d have to be careful, very careful.

The heaviness and absurdity of the situation finally hits him, and he shakes his head. What is he thinking? It doesn’t matter what’s in those storage facilities. It doesn’t change a thing, even if Krauser found something he considers worth Leon’s time. It’s not like anything really matters, in the end. It isn’t as if Krauser’s words carry any weight. Not anymore.

But still he can’t shake the feeling that there’s something he’s missing. That everything around him isn’t quite what it seems. He feels close enough to almost touch that other world, but far enough away that he won’t get there on his own. He can’t help wondering which side of the glass he’s on. If he, like Krauser, is nothing but an animal in a cage, being leashed and monitored.

When the doorbell rings, it takes him a moment for Leon to shake out of the unsettling unease he’s fallen into. It takes another ring for him to fully realize, even though he isn’t even drunk yet. He stands up without a stumble, sticks his flask in his pocket and heads for the door.

When he opens the door he almost knocks his head into a greasy bag of takeout, before the bag is lowered to reveal locks of auburn hair and a smile.

“Claire!”

“Hey, Leon,” she says, a little softer than usual, and Leon can tell she’s been talking to her brother. “Can I come in?”

Leon steps aside and invites her in with a sweep of his hand.

Now, if Leon was a bit more self-aware, he might have wanted to move the empty bottles littering his kitchen, or hide the dirty dishes in the sink, but he doesn’t. And as a testament to Claire’s knowledge of the human condition, she doesn’t comment on it.

“What brings you around these parts?” It’s not often Claire is around long enough to visit, and the timing is suspicious. Leon cocks a brow at her. “Been talking to Chris, have you?”

“Can you blame him?” she asks, and Leon supposes he can’t. She gives him a knowing, sad smile and deposits the grease stained bag on the table so she can hoist a six-pack of beer out of a grocery bag. “Can’t have one without the other.”

If she regrets the decision to bring alcohol, she doesn’t let it show.

They chat aimlessly while they eat the greasy takeout, avoiding any sensitive subjects until the beer has started working. It’s nice, pretending, even if he’s aware of exactly what’s going on.

They don’t really have a lot in common, but at the same time they share more than anyone else in Leon’s life. It’s not just their experiences in Raccoon City, but everything that’s happened since as well. He’s ashamed to admit he sometimes call her when he’s had a few too many drinks, simply to sort out his own feelings about the things they saw and smelled back then. Despite all the things that has happened since, Raccoon City is what has him waking up sweating in the middle of the night. At least he’s known what he’s facing since that day.

It’s more than just the shared experiences in Raccoon City. Even if Krauser and Steve are nothing alike, they both have felt loss intimately because of them. Perhaps more than either of them realize.

What he’s thinking must be plain as day, because when Leon lifts his head, Claire is watching him with a crease between her eyes.

“You were lovers, weren’t you?” she asks mildly, and it’s the first time anyone’s asked it, first time anyone’s probably even thought it, and it makes Leon blink and hesitate for just a moment too long. “Oh, Leon,” she says with a soft sigh.

“It was before-” Leon hesitates before he makes a gesture meant to encompass the ocean of time they’ve all crossed since then. “He wasn’t-”

“Homicidal?” Claire offers with an apologetic smile, and the sight of it is enough to make Leon smile a little himself.

“One word’s as good as the next, right?”

“What’s he like?” she asks, and Leon pauses with the rim of the bottle against his lips. He doesn’t move for a second, thinking it through, and he has a few gulps of beer before he starts talking.

“Krauser’s-” Leon sets the bottle down on the table. “He’s a soldier.” He smiles wistfully. “Strong, stoic and endlessly proud.” He sighs and something aches inside him when he continues. “But he’s also one of the few who treated me like a person. Not like someone to use. I think he understood me.”

“And you? Did you understand him?”

“I thought I did.” Leon rubs his hand over his face. “For a while I thought we were so much alike, and then he-”

The room is quiet for a few moments before Leon continues.

“It scared me, still scares me, how he was so quick to turn his back on everything he’d ever worked for. And if he did that, then what’s stopping me?”

Claire doesn’t answer, and for that Leon is endlessly thankful. Instead she watches him completely without judgement, pops another onion ring in her mouth, and waits for him to continue.

“The things he says, he- he knows me so well.” Leon downs the rest of his beer. “Sometimes I get the feeling he’s been keeping tabs on me, in all these years, he-” Leon shakes his head and sets the empty bottle on the table. “He’s everything I’m against. Everything I’ve fought against all these years, and I've tried to convince myself that I hate him.” He rubs at his eyes, feeling exhausted. "And yet the last time I felt anything was when-"

He doesn't finish, and they fall silent for a long moment.

“I thought he died,” she finally says.

“So did I.”

“How does it feel?” she whispers suddenly. “To have someone you know, someone on your side attack you like that?”

“You should know, shouldn’t you?” Leon says quietly.

Claire looks stricken for a moment, before her face falls a little, and she smiles.

“I suppose I do,” she answers softly.

They sit in silence for a moment after that, until Claire cracks open another two beers, giving the first one to Leon. They clank the bottles together before drinking half of it without a word.

“What will you do?” Claire finally asks, wiping her greasy fingers on a napkin.

“Not much to do,” Leon responds, his hands still cradling the half-empty bottle of beer. “I go in like I always do, and I try to do what’s right.” He has another deep sip of the bottle before setting it on the table. “Would it be a cliche if I said that right has never looked so wrong?”

“Probably,” Claire laughs, “But I won’t hold that against you.”

Leon cracks a tired, lopsided grin. “This is why I like you, you know that?”

It’s a stark contrast between Claire’s words and those of her brother. A stark contrast between her understanding and Chris’ angry dismissal of everything Krauser ever was, or could ever be again. Claire must be a mind reader, because when she speaks again it’s like she knows.

“Listen, I know how Chris can be,” Claire starts, and she smiles as she stares at the open bottle in her hands. “He’s a pigheaded, stubborn ass, but his heart is in the right place.”

“I know.” Because God, Leon knows. Chris is still passionate about his work, and the people he saves. Perhaps that’s why they don’t always see heart to heart. Perhaps Leon finds him so aggravating because of it. That idealism that leaves no ground for mistakes, or misplaced loyalty.

“He’s just worried, y’know?” Claire gives him a startlingly level-headed stare. “Worried that Krauser’s gonna be a liability.”

It’s a punch in his gut when he realizes Claire must be sharing Chris’ sentiment.

“Sounds like he’s worried I’ll turn my back on everything I’ve fought for as well,” Leon says, meeting that stare head on. “That Krauser’s the chink in my armor.”

Claire doesn’t say anything to that, and neither does Leon. Perhaps it’s because they both know that Leon’s right on the money about that.

Leon’s tried so hard to figure out Krauser’s weaknesses, when all he’s come to find are his own.  
  


* * *

  
The apartment feels entirely too empty without Claire’s presence, and Leon stands in front of the windows again, staring at the skyline. And despite trying not to, his thoughts go back to where they were before Claire rang the doorbell.

That damn storage facility.

It would be too risky to go there by himself. If he’s seen there, Leon doesn’t want to think where that would leave him. But those people and those favors… It would be all too easy to allow himself to wonder, to allow Krauser to get to him once again, but he already there, isn’t he? Leon’s contemplating trusting Krauser on something he knows he shouldn’t.

What he’s considering is madness. Absolute madness. It might qualify as treason, and for who? Jack Krauser, the once commendable USSOCOM soldier turned enemy of the state, patsy and treacherous ex-lover who’s tried to kill him more than once. Leon scoffs, but he can’t stop chewing on his bottom lip, wondering again which side of the glass he’s on.

And what about Krauser? Is he still chained to the table, being deprived of food and rest? Krauser’s strong, both physically and mentally, but Leon knows every man has a breaking point.

With a sigh he rests one hand against the cool glass, watching the heat of his hand cause the window to fog up until he can’t see his own reflection anymore.

It’s easier that way.


End file.
